The Mentalist: Fire With Fire
by Donnamour1969
Summary: When Jane attempts to help Rigsby win Grace's heart, things backfire in unexpected ways. Season 1 AU. Fluff, humor, farce, romance. T/M. Jisbon and Rigspelt. No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was in the mood for something fluffy and humorous, and this idea occurred to me, especially after I re-watched Van Pelt's reaction to the idea that Jane was coming on to her in "Fugue in Red." This is set in mid-Season 1, back when Rigsby's love for Van Pelt was as yet unrequited, and Van Pelt of course was the rookie on the team.

**Fire with Fire**

**Chapter 1**

Wayne Rigsby looked longingly after the tall redhead as she headed to the break room to refill her coffee mug. He sighed a little and turned back to his computer screen, while the two other men in the bullpen mentally rolled their eyes.

"Merely making cow eyes isn't going to win the hand of that fair maiden," Jane commented from his prone position on the nearby couch.

"It also turns my stomach a little," commented Cho under his breath.

"You probably just got a bad sausage biscuit," Wayne countered irritably.

Cho's lips twitched in amusement. He always enjoyed it when he'd goaded Rigsby enough that he actually fought back a little.

"Besides," Rigsby continued, this time glancing toward Jane, "it's against regulations to do anything more."

"Regulations smegulations," Jane said cheerily. He sat up, the conversation suddenly taking an interesting turn. "Haven't you ever experienced the excitement of a secret lover?"

Cho snorted a little in spite of himself, but Rigsby pointedly ignored him. "No," he admitted sadly. "Have you, Jane?"

Jane's expression grew nostalgic for a split second before he said: "Yeah, and there's nothing more stimulating." He quickly turned the spotlight back to the unrequited lover before him. "You need to step up your game, Wayne, or some other lucky suitor will take her away before you even set your cap."

This time, Cho physically rolled his eyes. "That's a load of crap. It's best he steer away from that career killer."

"Hey—" Rigsby protested.

"Don't listen to him, Wayne," Jane said. "Cho there is dealing with latent oedipal issues, which is why he's never formed any lasting relationships of his own."

"Hey—" Cho protested.

It was Rigsby's turn to snort. "So what do you suggest I do?" he asked his new champion.

"Why, write her a secret love letter, of course. Maybe throw in a bit of original poetry."

Rigsby gulped, his nervous gaze shooting toward the doorway, expecting Van Pelt to remerge at any moment. "What should I say? I've never written any poetry before."

"I could help if you like," Jane said, happy for a new and interesting project. There had been no new cases for days, and he desperately needed some sort of entertainment or he'd likely go mad. Rigsby's little problem would just fill the bill.

"This is a bad idea," Cho warned.

"Tell it to your mommy," Rigsby shot back. Jane chuckled, and Cho just shook his head, unfazed by the insult because he foresaw nothing but disaster at the end of this misguided experiment. Rigsby would get his.

"Look, Jane," Rigsby said, lowering his voice, one eye still on the door, "don't make it too mushy. I just want to get a hint if she's open to a relationship."

Jane nodded. "Don't worry; I got this."

Just then, Van Pelt returned, two steaming cups in her hand. She set one on Rigsby's desk as the tall agent looked up from his chair at her in awe.  
>"I just made this fresh," she said, "and since Cho and Jane don't like my coffee…Two sugars, right?"<p>

Rigsby swallowed, momentarily tongue-tied. "Yeah, right. Uh, thanks, Van Pelt. That was…nice of you."

She shrugged and smiled brilliantly at him. "No problem."

Rigsby watched as she went back to her desk, happily sipping from her mug as she got back to whatever project she'd been working. Rigsby shot a hopeful look at Jane and the consultant grinned confidently back.

_A piece of cake,_ Jane said to himself. _Like shooting fish in a barrel._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Three days later…**_

Van Pelt knocked timidly on the frame of Lisbon's open office door, and at her boss's absent nod, she came inside.

"Uh, Boss," she began, always a little nervous around Lisbon, who could be a little gruff and intimidating at times. "You mind if I close the door?"

Lisbon was immediately concerned, and the junior agent suddenly had her full attention. "Sure. Something wrong, Van Pelt? Have a seat."

The redhead complied.

"Well…I'm not sure it's anything exactly wrong, but I felt I should tell you about this, just in case."

"Go on," Lisbon nodded encouragingly. Van Pelt shifted uncomfortably in the chair in front of her desk, but knew that now that she'd finally gotten the courage to talk to Lisbon about this, the best thing to do was just spit it all out at once.

"I've been receiving these strange e-mails, and they're making me a little… uncomfortable."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed angrily. "Is someone sexually harassing you? Because that's something I won't tolerate in this office—"

"No! No, ma'am. It's hard to explain. Would you—well, do you have time to read them real quick?" She held out the sheets of paper she'd been holding. "I uh, printed them off."

Lisbon reached across her desk for the plain white copies, and, at first she almost violently began to read. But as her eyes drifted down the page, they began to noticeably soften, and by the end of the first letter, she was smiling a little.

She glanced up at Van Pelt. "Wow," she couldn't help saying. "That was just—wow. Are they all like this?"

Van Pelt nodded. "Believe it or not, they just get better."

Lisbon's eyes widened, and she went on to the next page. After she'd finished with that one, she actually reached up to wipe self-consciously at her misty eyes.

"Holy crap," Lisbon commented, feeling her face flush scarlet. "This is—well, I can see what you mean."

"I know, right?"

"Any idea who these are from?" Lisbon asked.

"I did a trace of the e-mail address and it's positively an internal CBI address, but it's a newly formed account. I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but at first I thought it might be Agent Rigsby. He's sort of looked at me in a certain way, you know?"

Lisbon nodded. It was certainly no secret that Rigsby had a huge crush on the rookie agent. "But you don't think it's him now?"

Van Pelt shook her head. "I don't mean to say that Agent Rigsby isn't capable of writing something like this, but it somehow doesn't seem quite his style."

Lisbon quietly agreed.

"I figured he might have copied some of the poetry from somewhere," Grace continued, "but when I plugged in a few lines into a search engine, nothing came back. I'm pretty sure it's original. It's certainly very personal. I mean, the descriptions of me physically are close to home."

Van Pelt felt her own face redden in embarrassment. She didn't want to sound conceited, because the flowery, old-fashioned words were touchingly beautiful and highly complementary. But Lisbon seemed to understand her meaning.

"I have no doubt whoever wrote these is totally smitten with you, Van Pelt, that's quite obvious. But you say you're uncomfortable. Would you like me to try to put a stop to this?"

Van Pelt's heart lurched. "I don't know, Boss. What if it isn't Rigsby after all? What if it's someone else more…appropriate. I guess I really just needed to tell someone about this. Like I said, I don't want anyone to get into trouble."

"Well, if it isn't someone on the team, it would be all right for you to pursue a relationship if you really want to. So then, we've likely eliminated Rigsby. I'm not liking Cho for this either."

Both women chuckled a little at the thought of the serious Cho secretly carrying a torch for the younger agent. Definitely not his style either, but then again, he did read some awfully romantic novels and poetry books, thought Grace. Hmmm…Then a thought occurred to her, and it seemed so totally out there that she almost didn't mention it. But Lisbon would probably have some great insight into her next suspect.

"I did notice something peculiar about Jane lately," Van Pelt said a moment later. Lisbon felt a tightening in her chest and wondered at the strange feeling. Maybe she'd had a bad sausage biscuit that morning.

"Oh," Lisbon said casually. "What's that?"

"Well, he's been sitting at his desk, jotting things down on a yellow legal pad."

"Jane's been jotting? Jane never jots."

This was a particularly annoying fact about Jane, in Lisbon's opinion. He never wrote down anything she told him, not names, not addresses, not important case points. She never saw him with a notepad, even during staff meetings. He'd told her one time that he need only hear something once, and he'd committed it to memory. (Well, things he deemed important, anyway.) When she'd challenged him on this, he'd told her to write a list of a hundred nouns. It took her an hour to compose it, but once she had, he asked that she read the list to him slowly, one time. When she'd gone through the list he was able to recite every word back to her, in order, even backwards. It had been truly amazing. It had cost her a dollar to find out how he'd done it.

"Mnemonics," he'd replied simply, his smile smug. Despite her threats of bodily harm, he wouldn't return her dollar.

That's why it was so suspicious now that Jane was actually putting pen to paper, not to mention the fact he was sitting in his mostly unused desk to do it. That implied a certain seriousness and dedication rarely seen by him, with the exception of cases involving Red John.

"You don't think Jane could be writing this stuff, do you?" Van Pelt asked, not exactly horrified, but it was definitely a little…disconcerting. Grace allowed herself to ponder what it would be like to be loved by Patrick Jane. She'd be blind not to notice how devastatingly handsome he was, how charming, how intelligent, how entirely capable he was of coming up with love letters that would move even the stoic Lisbon to tears. Van Pelt shivered a little. Could she handle such a strong personality as Patrick Jane?

"He's just a consultant, right?" she ventured. "Not officially a team member, is he?"

Lisbon looked at the young woman before her, so different from Lisbon herself. She seemed so fresh, so untouched by the horrors Lisbon had seen in her fifteen years of law enforcement. It wasn't beyond all probability that Jane might be drawn to someone like that, someone who might make him feel younger, who had nothing about her to remind him of his haunted past. It had been five years since he'd lost his family, after all. It was certainly past time for him to consider moving on with his life, way past time for a fling. As a matter of fact, Lisbon cared enough about him to want that for him. She ignored the vague feelings of disappointment at the thought that he hadn't shared with _her_ his desire to move on. They were friends, weren't they?

"I'm not sure how the rules apply to someone in Jane's position," Lisbon replied neutrally. "But don't you think he's a little, well, _old_for you?"

Van Pelt blushed anew. "I don't know. Does age really matter when it comes down to it? We're both single, over twenty-one. And have you looked at him lately? I mean, that hair, that smile-" She stopped, realizing she'd taken this conversation way beyond the realm of a workplace dilemma.

Lisbon couldn't help feeling that this entire conversation was just too surreal, and at the very least, way too personal. Yes, of course she'd noticed Jane's thousand-watt smile. She'd have been dead not to. It was one of the things she loved most—she shook her head in consternation.

"What would you like me to do about this, Van Pelt?" she asked, her voice suddenly sounding cold, even to her own ears.

Van Pelt sighed, oblivious to her boss's change in mood.

"You're right about Jane. If it is him, it's seriously inappropriate, and have you noticed he still wears his wedding ring? But I don't know what I could say to politely get him to stop. I'm not very good at situations like that. I don't want to hurt his feelings, and I'm afraid I'll just make things even more awkward. I mean, I have to work with the guy."

"Have you replied to any of these e-mails?"

"No. I wouldn't know what I could possibly say to them."

Lisbon nodded. "Okay, let me handle this."

"What?"

"Give me your password, and I'll answer these letters as if I were you, on your account. Then, you can either block him or get yourself a new e-mail address."

Van Pelt looked at Lisbon a moment in trepidation. She still wasn't totally certain this was Jane's doing, and the letters were so lovely and certainly a tremendous boost to her ego, no matter who they were from. Could she be passing up the chance at a lovely romantic encounter by putting a stop to them?

"I don't know, Boss—" she began, but Lisbon was already in fix-it mode.

"May I keep these e-mails?" she asked Van Pelt. After all, there was still one she hadn't read yet, and she'd need to re-read them to formulate a reply.

"Uh, sure."

"Well, thanks for bringing this to my attention, Van Pelt. You shouldn't be bothered with letters of a personal nature at work, not matter who they're from."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your password?" Lisbon prompted, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Van Pelt borrowed a pen and wrote down the password on a sticky note, already regretting that she'd gotten her boss involved with this at all. She supposed she just wanted to commiserate with a woman, and since she hadn't had time yet to make many new female friends in Sacramento, Lisbon had been the most obvious, albeit unconventional choice.

"I'll get to this as soon as I can," Lisbon assured her. "Don't worry about a thing."

"Okay. Thank you, ma'am." And Van Pelt beat a hasty retreat out of the senior agent's office. She went back to her desk, purposefully avoiding looking at her teammates, especially the snoozing consultant with the angelic curls.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in her office, Lisbon picked up the third e-mail from Van Pelt's secret admirer. The simple, heartfelt words touched a place inside her on such a deep level that Lisbon felt her pulse rate increasing, her palms growing damp. She had never read anything more beautiful outside a novel, outside a work of Shakespeare. She imagined the man who had written it, and her thoughts kept returning to Patrick Jane.

Patrick Jane in obsession mode was a force to be reckoned with—it was well-known how he behaved whenever Red John reared his sadistic head. He would become single-minded, oblivious to anyone who would attempt to interfere with his getting what he wanted. Lisbon knew instinctively that Jane would be exactly this way toward a woman when he was first falling in love with her. He'd throw out all the stops and woo her until she couldn't see straight. If these letters were any indication, poor Van Pelt would have no idea what hit her. And Jane had to realize that he was much too old and too damaged for the likes of her. Yes, it was up to Lisbon now to put a stop to it before both their hearts were broken. She had a good team here, and the last thing she wanted was for a doomed romance to break that apart too.

At least, that's what she told herself as she reread a particularly enchanting ode to Van Pelt's titian hair.

A/N: Yes, I am totally mangling and somewhat ripping off _Cyrano De Bergerac, _lol, but with a slightly surprising twist, I hope. Let me know if you like it so far, please?

P.S.: Just found a great new Chummer fic (thanks to Nana) called "I'm in Here," by mia101. Look it up. It's really fabulous!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the warm reception of this new story. I'll get to your reviews of chapter 1 very soon. Hope you enjoy this next installment…

**Chapter 2**

_Dear Enamored,_

_While I am certainly flattered by your recent letters and lovely poetry, I admit you have me a little ill at ease. There are a lot of creepy guys out there these days, and a girl can't be too careful about talking to strangers. So, unless you are willing to confess to your identity, I must insist that you stop e-mailing me. It is inappropriate to use the CBI network for personal use._

"Oh, no," said Rigsby, after reading what he assumed was Van Pelt's reply to the three e-mails Jane had written for him. "We've freaked her out," he told Jane. Van Pelt was still out for her lunch break, and Rigsby had taken that opportunity to check the alternate e-mail address he'd set up for just this purpose.

Jane, sandwich in hand, walked over to peep over Rigsby's shoulder at his computer monitor.

"On the contrary; she's intrigued," he said, mouth full of egg salad.

"What? She thinks I'm stalking her."

"If she were truly afraid, she would have simply blocked you and not responded. No, the woman is definitely interested."

"So, what do we do now? She said to stop. Wouldn't it be considered harassment if we kept writing?"

"Nah, let me try again. If it comes to a lawsuit, I'll take full responsibility."

"Yeah, right," Rigsby replied, not believing that for a minute.

Cho, listening in spite of himself, shook his head and turned the page of his novel.

"Trust me. One or two more of these babies and she'll be putty in your hands," Jane maintained.

Rigsby still looked skeptical, but as Van Pelt returned to her desk with a genuine smile in greeting, he felt his heart skip a beat. He nodded surreptitiously to Jane, who grinned around his lunch and set to work at his desk, switching his sandwich to his left hand.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Dearest Grace,_

_I was overjoyed to see your e-mail in my box, so let me reassure you that my intention was never to cause you discomfort. Indeed, I wish only to bring you joy, for whenever I see your face glowing with that certain smile you seem to reserve only for me…_

Lisbon rolled her eyes. This guy really had it bad, and boy did he lay it on thick. It also confirmed the author knew Van Pelt well enough to see her smile at him. Still, if he were some delusional creep, he might easily mistake Grace's sweet disposition for personal interest, and that could be very dangerous. But in her heart, Lisbon knew this was Jane she'd been corresponding with. She glanced into the bullpen where she could just see the tips of Jane's feet over the desks that blocked her full view of his couch.

She sighed. How could she stand in the way of Jane's feelings, especially if he'd put himself out there enough to want a relationship with a woman, even though she was young enough to be his, well, his little sister? Perhaps the best way to end this would be to insist on a meeting. She clicked on the _Reply _button and began to compose her answer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Dear Enamored,_

_I admit I'm intrigued by you. Perhaps we should meet. Some place public, of course. What do you say?_

"What did I tell you, Wayne," Jane was saying after Van Pelt had left for the day. "Intrigued. So, you ready to meet her? You know, this is sorta reminding me of a song. What was that hokey tune from the seventies?"

"_The Pina Colada Song_," Cho supplied helpfully. He was immediately embarrassed that he'd known that.

"Yeah, right," Jane grinned. "So? What are you waiting for, Rigsby? Type that you'll meet her for lunch tomorrow at the Riverside Landing."

"I don't know," Rigsby replied. "what if she's disappointed that it's me? I mean, I didn't actually write all that cool stuff to her. What if she expects me to recite poetry or say all that romantic crap you did."

"Don't worry about it. The right words will come. You wanted to know if she was interested in starting a relationship; well, here's your answer. Now, man up and hit _Reply. _ I didn't write all that _romantic crap_ for myself, you know. Here's your chance to speak for yourself. Don't screw up all the groundwork I laid for you, young Christian."

Cho snorted softly to himself, recognizing the literary reference to _Cyrano De Bergerac_. He'd known this was a mistake all along, but he was too good a friend to say he'd told him so; well, at least not yet.

"Okay, fine," replied Rigsby at last, annoyed. For once, he composed the reply himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

At her desk, Lisbon was about to turn off her computer when she saw the new e-mail pop into her box. She clicked it open and started a little at the invitation to lunch the next day. She noticed something different about this particular letter. For one, it was much shorter, and for another, the entire tone of if was more direct, more precise, and much less romantic. She shrugged. Jane must have been in a hurry.

She glanced at the blinds she'd closed over her windows in preparation to leaving. Somewhere in the building, Jane was sitting at a computer and writing to whom he thought was Van Pelt. She hated to admit the idea was making her a little sick at heart, and she especially didn't want to admit why.

_Dear Enamored,_

_I'll see you there at noon. How will I recognize you?_

She didn't have to wait long for a reply.

_Dearest Grace,_

_You'll know me when you see me…_

She couldn't resist responding once more.

_What? No pink carnation? No fedora?_

The reply came quickly again.

_I'll wear both, so there will be no doubt._

Lisbon smiled to herself. Mr. Charming was pulling out all the stops. She typed another response before she remembered she was supposed to be discouraging him.

_I'm looking forward to it. Remember, the fedora goes on your head. ;)_

The moment she sent the last message, she paused in consternation, wishing she could take it back. What was she doing? She'd gotten caught up in the fun that was Jane, that's what. She loved bantering with him, the mental invigoration of sparing with a master. But he thought he was talking to Van Pelt, and her enjoyment of the conversation abruptly dissipated. She turned off her computer in disgust, grabbing her purse and a couple of files to work on at home. Tomorrow she'd meet Jane and set him straight about the dangers of sexual harassment. She'd remind him that the junior agent was too young for him, that he should take out his mid-life crises on someone closer to his own age. Better yet, he should buy a convertible or a motorcycle or something.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Rigsby had suddenly become at a loss for words, Jane had taken over, nearly pushing him out of the way to get his hands on the keyboard.

"Van Pelt is really on her toes this evening," Jane commented, grinning after her final message.

"Yeah," said Rigsby dully.

Jane shot his coworker a look. "Cold feet now, Rigsby?"

"Well…"

"If you disappoint her now, there may be no going back," Jane warned.

"Okay. You're right. Thanks, Jane."

"Don't mention it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alone in her apartment, Van Pelt took out her laptop and logged in to her e-mail account. She couldn't help being curious as to what Lisbon had been saying to her secret admirer, and she had to admit she was regretting a little allowing the situation to be taken out of her hands. She was a grown woman; she should be able to handle her own love life, and that included any unwanted attention. Van Pelt wondered with a cringe if Lisbon saw this as a sign of weakness on her part. She sighed. Well, it was too late now.

Seeing no new e-mails, she went into her old mail and saw that Lisbon and her admirer had burned up the internet that evening. So, Lisbon was meeting him tomorrow for lunch. Van Pelt imagined how it would go down the next day. Lisbon would read Jane (or whoever it was) the riot act, and Van Pelt would end up looking even more like the green young woman she was, getting mommy to do her dirty work for her. Plus, Jane (or whoever it was) might end up being really hurt, and would ultimately blame her. Lisbon was tough but fair, but she'd seen the way she handled Jane when he got out of control. Sometimes it wasn't pretty. She'd even socked him in the nose before. What if he got punched again because Van Pelt lacked the guts to confront him on her own? She felt just awful at the very thought of it, Jane clutching his bleeding nose in the middle of the café. How embarrassing. How painful.

No, she thought, that just wasn't going to cut it. She'd just have to get there before Lisbon did and take care of her own affairs like she should have done from the start. And Jane (or whoever it was) deserved a chance to explain himself. The fact that he was one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen in real life had absolutely nothing to do with it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane took his seat at the table for two and adjusted his gray fedora more rakishly upon his head. He looked down at the pink carnation in the buttonhole of his dark blue suit jacket and inhaled its peppery scent. Damn Rigsby. Jane should have known the man would chicken out at the last minute. The signs were all there. Now he was left holding the bag, awkwardly explaining the whole messy business to a disappointed Van Pelt. Jane mostly blamed himself, however. The Cyrano de Bergerac routine had started out as a harmless diversion, but now it had snowballed to this, and he was left to clean up the mess. He did feel for the guy, because Van Pelt would be much less inclined to take a chance on him now. Jane was infinitely glad at that moment that he was off the market.

He sighed and sipped his steaming tea while he waited for his date to arrive.

He didn't have to wait long. Van Pelt came around the corner, her eyes scanning the rooftop café for a man wearing a fedora and flower. When she caught sight of a smiling Jane, she bashfully returned his grin and walked over to the table, her heart pounding with nervousness. Jane rose and doffed his hat, pulling out her chair like the gentleman he was. When they were both seated, the atmosphere became suddenly awkward, and Van Pelt was looking everywhere but at him.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," said Jane at last.

"No," replied Van Pelt, reluctantly meeting his eyes. They were a beautiful, bright sea green in the midday sunlight. Jane's own eyes widened at her sudden look of admiration. "I figured that no one else I knew could have written such beautiful letters. And that poetry—none of the straight-laced CBI guys have a romantic bone in their bodies."

"Well, I don't know," countered Jane, starting to feel as if he'd been caught in a vicious undertow. "It could have been anybody. Lots of men are romantics; it just takes the right woman to bring it out in them."

Van Pelt raised a skeptical eye. "But they don't have your gift of expression, or your courage. Besides, your letters prove you are a romantic."

"Uh, Grace, there's something I should tell you-"

She reached out a hand and placed it over his where it rested beside his teacup and looked deeply into his eyes. "Jane—Patrick," she amended softly, and Jane nearly jumped at the touch of her warm hand as well as the invitation in her eyes. He gulped.

"I just want to say that I've never been more flattered in my life," she continued.

"I almost didn't meet with you; I was so nervous. But then I thought how lonely you must be since you lost your wife. It's admirable now that you're ready to move on with your life. You don't know how honored I feel that after all these years, you've chosen me—"

Her slim hand tightened on his, and he looked wildly around for escape. That's when he saw Lisbon. She'd just entered the café and her eyes had zeroed in on them like a laser. She looked at the cozy picture they must have made, him sitting with this young girl at a romantic table for two, holding hands in the middle of the day. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed an angry line. Abruptly, she turned around and nearly stomped out of sight. Jane felt compelled to go after her, but his date was still talking, still holding his hand in a viselike grip.

"I know I'm a little young for you," an oblivious Van Pelt was saying. "But I've seen these relationships work before. I mean, look at Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart. How 'bout Michael Douglas and Katherine Zeta Jones? Or even Anna Nicole Smith and that old guy."

"Huh?" Jane said, focusing again on what she was saying. "Wasn't he a hundred years old?" he asked, suddenly offended. How old did she think he was, anyway?

"Well, yeah," she grinned. "But you get my point."

Their waitress arrived and Jane used that excuse to extricate his hand from hers and pick up his menu as Van Pelt gave her drink order. Alone again, Jane wondered how he had suddenly lost control of the situation. He needed to rein this in and quickly.

"Lisbon told me that since you're just a consultant, it would be okay for us to date." She gave this announcement in a charmingly soft voice, her face flushed becomingly, eyes averted to her own menu.

Jane lowered his menu, wondering which part of that outrageous sentence to address first.

Lisbon knew about this? He was _just _a consultant? He and Van Pelt were suddenly dating now?

"Grace, you've got it all wrong, I'm afraid, and it's all my fault. Those e-mails—they weren't quite what they appeared to be."

"It's okay if you took the poems from somewhere else. They did sound like they'd been written by Wordsworth or Keats or somebody…"

"Keats?" he asked, his ego finally re-inflating after that _old guy_ remark. He grinned. "Why thank you Grace, but I confess they were all completely original."

"Oh, Patrick. They're lovely, simply lovely!"

Jane shook his head to clear it, wondering how he'd gotten so off track again. "Grace, what I'm trying to say is—"

"You two ready to order?" asked the waitress, setting down a basket of bread. Jane looked at the innocent woman in exasperation, about to open his mouth to send her packing, but Van Pelt was already ordering the soup and salad special. He sighed and ordered a club sandwich, waiting impatiently for the waitress to take their menus and skedaddle.

"I really like this place," Van Pelt commented before he could get back to the point. She took a deep breath of fresh air. Well, fresh as city air could be in California. "It's nice to have a convenient place to go and get outside in the middle of the day. And the food is really good."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it is nice. But Grace, you have to listen to me a moment, okay?"

Her eyes focused on his, and she blushed again at the sudden intensity of his gaze. Her pulse leapt as he leaned closer to her, his hand lightly touching her forearm to insure her full attention. "Grace, those letters weren't from me."

"What?" she asked in surprise. "What are you talking about? If they weren't from you, why are you here then?"

"I can explain. I _did_ write the letters—"

"So you wrote them now? Which is it, Jane?" Anger was rapidly replacing her confusion now, and he saw he no longer merited being called _Patrick_. He almost smiled at the absurdity of the situation.

"I wrote them, but for someone else. Someone who was worried you wouldn't be impressed by his own romantic writing abilities. I offered to help, hoping I could move things along for him, but he—"

"Move things along? Where is the spineless coward then? Didn't even have the guts to keep a date. And you? How dare you show up here with your charming hat and seductive smile, making me think—"

She stood up, throwing down her napkin in consternation.

"Grace," he said, trying to calm her down before she made an even bigger scene. "Sit down, please. Let me explain—"

"No. You and your gutless friend can both go to hell!" Grace suddenly had a very firm grasp as to why Lisbon would want to punch this infuriating man. At that moment, she was sorely tempted to do so herself. She knew she'd better leave then or she'd do something very unladylike.

"Grace!" Jane called, but she was already to the exit, and he shook his head woefully. He realized other patrons were staring at him, the men in amusement, the women, if their expressions were any indication, thinking he was some dirty old man who'd taken advantage of an innocent young girl. He grinned disarmingly, removing his hat and picking up his cup.

"Kids these days," he said to the lunchtime crowd with a resigned shrug. "No respect for their elders."

He sighed and took a sip of his cold tea, made a face and raised a hand to order another and cancel Grace's order. He really should get up and find her to try to smooth things over, or maybe even Lisbon, who'd likely been thinking much the same thing as the women in the café. But his stomach growled and he realized it could certainly wait until he'd had his sandwich. Groveling was much easier on a full stomach, Jane had found.

A/N: Jane, you got some 'splainin' to do! Next chapter, the fallout. More to come very soon. Feel free to click on that good old review button ;).


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Glad so many of you are enjoying the fluffy humor of this fic. Thanks so much for your great reviews. Now that Jane's dug himself into this mess, I suppose I should help him get out. But he might find himself in a little deeper than he first suspects. I hope you like this next installment. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

Lisbon and Jane avoided each other the rest of the day, Van Pelt wouldn't even look at Jane unless it was to shoot daggers from her eyes, and Rigsby feigned deep interest in fixing his broken stapler and revising his summary report from their last case. Cho looked around the bullpen's occupants in annoyance. Why couldn't these people just avoid personal issues on the job? It was totally disruptive and unprofessional. What they really needed was a good old-fashioned murder to solve, get the team working together doing something productive. Not that he wanted anyone to be murdered, of course—but murders happened every day. He was only asking for their fair share. He shook his head at them all and focused again on his own summary report.

Suddenly, at around four-thirty, Jane arose from his couch and left the bullpen. All eyes followed him out the doorway and down the short hall to Lisbon's office. He stopped at her open door and knocked on the glass wall beside it. To the untrained eye, Lisbon seemed to be enthralled by whatever she was reading on the computer, but Jane felt as if he'd just entered the deep freeze.

"Lisbon?" he asked tentatively, keeping his voice soft and soothing. It wouldn't hurt to throw in a little hypnotic tone, purely for insurance purposes.

"What is it Jane?" she asked impatiently. Acknowledging his existence was encouragement enough for him, so he walked inside, closed the door behind him, and took his usual place on her couch.

"It wasn't what it looked like," he said. No sense in beating around the bush.

She looked up from her computer, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "I'm pretty sure it was _exactly_ what it looked like."

"Aw," he said in understanding. "I take it you haven't talked to Grace since lunch."

His somber tone had her eyes narrowing with involuntary interest. "No," she said neutrally, her body tensing. "What? It didn't go well?"

Jane laughed a little, hearing the note of satisfaction in her tone at his little newsflash. He ran his hand through his hair in amusement.

"That's an understatement," he replied.

"Well, it's really no surprise, Jane. A middle aged man like you pursuing a woman young enough to be your daughter-"

"If I'd been fourteen when I'd had her," he said in annoyance. "And what's with everyone thinking I'm so old all of a sudden? Middle aged? I'm not even forty yet."

"Age is a state of mind, Jane. Sometimes you seem like you're in the state of five, other times, sixty-five." She smirked a little as her barb hit home.

"Ha ha. But back to the real point though, Lisbon. Van Pelt obviously showed you those e-mails, but they weren't actually from me."

"Oh, come on. Of course they were. Who else would be capable of writing such drivel?"

"Drivel? I'll have you know my work has been compared to Wordsworth and… and Keats."

"Keats, eh?" And Lisbon reached into a drawer and pulled out the copies of his e-mails Van Pelt had given her. She shuffled through the pages, then glanced up at his expectant expression before looking back down and clearing her throat dramatically.

"_My love's titian hair doth gently flow_

_It's fragrance rivals the summer's rose…"_

She smirked at him. "Drivel, like I said."

Jane refused to take offense as a sudden thought occurred to him. He cocked his head at her, scooting forward to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled prosaically. "Tell me, Lisbon, why does all this bother you so much, hmm? It's not like I was hurting anyone—"

"Except maybe our literary sensibilities…"

He chose to ignore that. "Grace told me you said it would be fine if she and I dated. Aside from the _minor_ age difference, what other objections could you possibly have?"

Her jaw dropped slightly in surprise at his obvious attempt to read her, and she snapped it closed in irritation. "Van Pelt came to me because she feared she was being sexually harassed, and being so _young_ and inexperienced, she didn't know how to deal with her harasser. She sought my advice and help. Of course I'm going to be there for a member of my team if they feel they are working in a sexually charged environment—"

"You wrote her replies, didn't you? The fedora and carnation thing was your idea." He shook his head at himself. "How did I miss that? Those messages had _Lisbon _written all over them. I must be slipping—"

"In your old age," she finished for him haughtily. "Yes, it was me. I wanted to be sure it was really you and that I could be there to set you straight and get you to back off my agent."

"Then why did Grace show up? If she was feeling so _harassed_?"

She looked away, busying herself with returning the offending e-mails back to her drawer.

"Lisbon?" he prompted as she continued to avoid answering as well as avoid his probing eyes.

"I don't know, all right? She must have decided to handle it herself. If it didn't go well for you, I suppose I should be praising her for taking matters into her own hands."

"I hurt her feelings, Lisbon. I'm sorry for that, and when she cools down, I'll apologize again. I told you those letters weren't from me. I was writing them for a friend who was too afraid to write them himself."

She met his eyes then, and hers were wide with surprise. "You mean you aren't _enamored_ with Van Pelt?"

He tried not to smile at her obvious relief. "No," he said simply.

"Oh."

Jane watched in amazement as she blushed a little. "Well, who was it then? Rigsby?"

"I'm no tattletale, Lisbon."

"Cho?"

He did smile then. "Cho? Cho doesn't need my help writing poetry. I bet his sonnets would give mine a run for their money, as much as he devours the works of the great poets. No, the real Romeo will have to remain a mystery, I'm afraid. No amount of your CBI interrogation skills will be able to drag it out of me, so don't even try."

"It was Rigsby," she maintained.

Jane merely shrugged. "You'll never know."

He watched her a few more moments, noted the slight smile on her lips, the disappearance of the telltale crease in her brow. She was truly relieved that it wasn't him. But why? Why did she care? That stuff about his age and sexual harassment was bullshit, and they both knew it. So there could only be one other conclusion, one other reason she would be acting this way. _No_, he thought. _No way_. But the words spilled out before he could stop them.

"You're jealous," he said smugly.

"What?" she asked, startled, then frozen in place.

He snapped his fingers. "That's it, isn't it? You're jealous because Grace was receiving love letters and you—you weren't." He stood up then, chuckling at his revelation. "Tell me, Lisbon, how long has it been since you received a love letter? How long has it been since you even went out on a date?" 

"That's none of your damn business," she said when she could finally get her mouth to work.

He moved to her desk, his palms resting on the edge, leaning forward so he was uncomfortably near her face. She tried not to notice how his eyes were even more sparkly and beautiful up close.

"Forgive me, Teresa, for being so insensitive," he was saying while she was momentarily distracted. "Of course you were feeling a little envious. Not to mention that she must be a reminder of your own advancing age. Van Pelt must be at least ten years younger than you, right? All this attention she's receiving only emphasizes how you've chosen your career over love, and now, approaching old maid status, you're starting to regret that choice a little."

His words finally sank in, drawing her focus from his overwhelming proximity to what he'd just had the audacity to say to her. She was on her feet in an instant, her face contorting in outrage as she leaned over her desk to almost literally butt heads with him.

"Old maid? Of all the—has anyone ever told you what an asshole you are?"

"Frequently," he said with an unaffected grin. Lisbon was glorious in her outrage, her face flushed a becoming shade of pink, her green eyes glittering dangerously. Seeing her like this and at this close range only made his smile widen, which in turn infuriated her even more.

"Get out!"

"Aw, come on, Lisbon. Stop being so touchy and admit I'm right."

"Get the hell out!"

She looked around frantically on her desk for something painful she could throw at him. Jane held up his hands defensively, backing in resignation toward the door just as her eyes alighted on her empty ceramic coffee mug.

"Okay, okay. I'm going. But you have to admit, you need love in your life, Teresa; everyone does. There's someone out there for you, I just know it."

She pointed her finger toward the door, speechless with anger, her eyes warning in no uncertain terms to get his ass out of her sight. When he left, closing the door behind him with a soft _click_, she sat heavily in her chair again, her heart pounding, her head falling dully into her hands.

_Who did he think he was? Ha. I don't need his pity, least of all from a man still married to a ghost. He has a lot of nerve, calling me old._

But she regretted immediately her uncharitable thoughts about the loss of his wife. He was obviously too crippled by the pain of his personal tragedy to even think about starting a relationship of his own. She should have realized from the start that Van Pelt's secret admirer couldn't possibly be Jane; he wasn't ready for a romance with anyone.

On the other hand, Patrick Jane was one of the few people who could get her blood boiling, and usually she was much less sensitive and able to control her temper. But somehow this whole situation seemed different. And as much as she hated to admit it, the only conclusion she kept coming to was that Jane was right: she _had _been jealous of Van Pelt, but not in the way that he'd surmised. She was jealous when she thought that he was actually interested in Grace. And not in her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, Lisbon discovered the first love poem she'd ever receive. It hadn't come through e-mail, but had been hand-delivered, sealed in an envelope, propped against the laptop on her desk when she arrived in the morning.

The stationary was heavy and obviously expensive, a rich vellum, the writing a flowing script that can only come from an old-fashioned fountain pen. She had no doubt whom it was from, and she struggled with whether she should be feeling annoyed or touched at the gesture. At first she leaned toward the former, given the fact that he'd had to have picked the lock to get inside to deliver it, but she ultimately settled on the latter when she thought of their conversation earlier; she'd been royally pissed off with him, and he was using this to apologize.

She opened the envelope and beheld the work of a master.

It was an ode to her beauty, her strength, her courage, her timeless youth—a sonnet comparable to a Spenser or a Petrarch. Even though she knew she was being manipulated, the soft woman's heart within her breast was helplessly won over, and she felt herself forgiving him. The bastard.

She read through it a few times, then, wiping her eyes with a tissue, took out her phone and texted him.

_Stop breaking into my office._

He replied immediately, no doubt waiting for a response to his handiwork.

_Did you like it?  
>Like what?<br>Stop being coy, Lisbon._

_More drivel is not going to cancel out all the crappy things you said to me._

_You've already forgiven me._

_In your dreams._

_You are, Lisbon. _

_(_She rolled her eyes.) _Oh, stop it._

_Consider that poem the first of many. You deserve to be adored._

Lisbon stopped short at that last message. She stared at his words in surprise. He was groveling, for sure, but his offhand remarks were starting to get to her, and if she wasn't careful, she'd end up with hurt feelings. Truth be told, he had way too much power over her emotions already, and no matter how insincere she knew him to be, feelings she'd been burying since the day she met the beautiful yet damaged man were rising unbidden to the surface.

She was lonely and she hadn't had a serious romance since college. Somehow her strange friendship with Jane had become the most important relationship in her life. She'd spent the last four years trying to tamp down any unprofessional feelings toward him. Reading the sweet poetry he'd written just for her, coupled with her recent jealousy of his attentions toward Van Pelt, were making that prospect increasingly difficult.

She sniffed a little and typed into her phone.

_I don't have time to spar with you anymore. Some of us have work to do._

The moment she sent the message, she had the unsettling feeling she was being watched. She looked up from her place at her desk and saw Jane peering in at her through her glass door. He'd caught her in an unguarded moment, her feelings still roiling from her sudden epiphany about him. His eyes widened in response to the raw emotion he saw there, noting the poem he'd written for her open on her desk before her. His mischievous smile faded, and Lisbon looked hastily away.

Jane walked in a daze to the break room, seeking as he usually did his morning tea. But instead of filling up the electric tea pot, he stopped before the sink, his hands sweating, his heart pounding in his chest at what his keen skills of perception were telling him. His poem had gotten to her, an not in the _Jane-you're-really-pushing-it _ way he was used to. Had he misread her earlier reaction to what had happened with Van Pelt? She'd been jealous, of that he was sure, but he'd surmised her jealousy was because she hadn't been the recipient of love letters from anyone. Could it be she hadn't liked that _he'd_ been the one writing them for Van Pelt? No. Surely not.

But the evidence had been right before his eyes, both this morning and during yesterday's debacle. He'd gotten it right, he was sure, but not totally right. If Jane were honest with himself, he'd purposefully avoided the true reason behind Lisbon's jealousy. He'd used that avoidance as an excuse to write a poem for her, and he'd thrown out all the stops as he'd written it last night. It was surprising, how easily the words had flowed. Lisbon _was_ beautiful, and brave and youthful and funny and intelligent. And beautiful. (Had he already thought that?) He shook his head in consternation. Writing that sonnet had started out as a challenge, a way to get back into her good graces with a little old-fashioned flattery.

What was making his heart pound now was his horrified realization that he'd meant every damn word of it.

A/N: So? They both came to some pretty scary conclusions here. I haven't forgotten about Rigsby and Van Pelt, so I'll deal with them as well in the next chapter. Please be sure to sign in or it's very simple to make an account so that you can let me know what you think of my writing. I respond to every logged in review. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter went on much longer than I intended, but I hope you don't mind. Thanks for the great reviews of the past chapters. I hope you like this one too. There's some Rigspelt to start you off, and a healthy dose of Jisbon at the end.

**Chapter 4**

Rigsby was on his way out of the office for the day when he nearly ran into Van Pelt, her head down, just exiting the ladies' room. He held out his hands to prevent a collision, steadying her. When she looked up in gratitude, he noted that her eyes were on the red side, as if she'd been crying.

"Grace?" he asked, his hands holding her upper arms lightly. "You okay?"

She sniffed a little self-consciously. "Yeah." Then, to Rigsby's horror, her brown eyes welled with sudden tears. "No," she amended. "I'm not okay."

Rigsby looked around, then led her by the hand into an empty interrogation room. He shut the door, closing the blinds and pulling out a chair at the table for her. He passed her the Kleenex box, and she promptly dabbed at her eyes and nose. He took what would be Cho's normal seat across the table from her.

"Sorry," Van Pelt was saying. "I've tried to keep this to myself, but Jane really pissed me off."

"Jane?" he said, hoping he sounded innocently neutral enough. "What did Jane do?"

"He made me think he was"-her face reddened with embarrassment—"that he was…in love with me."

"What?"

"Yeah." She briefly explained what of course Rigsby already knew about the letters and the poetry, but he was more than curious to hear what had occurred at the café in his absence. He'd only looked sheepishly at Jane after lunch the day before, and the consultant had said nothing to him. Rigsby had known he was being a wimp, but he'd found he couldn't face her, wasn't ready to tell this beautiful woman of his true feelings for her for fear she'd reject him. Well, Jane obviously hadn't told her that he was the one Jane had been writing for. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but it pained him to think she was this upset because she'd thought _Jane_ didn't love her.

"Jane said he was helping out a friend who was too shy to tell me his true feelings. You know who he's talking about?" She asked him, an eyebrow raised speculatively.

Rigsby supposed he could lie, maybe even get away with it since Jane hadn't named names. But Van Pelt was very upset with both Jane and the secret admirer who'd bailed on her, and if she even suspected him, Rigsby knew he'd lose all hope of ever winning her if he lied now.

"Yes," he sighed, running a nervous hand through his spiky dark hair. "It was"—and he cleared his throat—"it was me."

He expected her to yell and lambast him, maybe even slap his face. He certainly deserved it. But she only sat in her seat across from him, regarding him evenly.

"When Jane told me what he'd done, I thought it might have been for you."

Rigsby blushed. "I'm that obvious, eh?"

She actually smiled a little. "Yes. But you didn't have to get Jane to do your dirty work for you. And you certainly screwed up by standing me up for lunch. Am I really so difficult to talk to?"

"Yes," Rigsby admitted. "You intimidate the hell out of me."

Van Pelt looked genuinely surprised. "I do? Why? I try to be open and friendly-"

"You are, you are," Rigsby rushed to reassure her. "You're just so—so pretty. So smart. Way out of my league. I'm sorry for putting you through all that e-mail garbage. Sorry for being a no-show at the cafe, too" he finished, looking away in acute embarrassment.

She regarded him now, having been fully prepared to lay into him, bring up words like _sexual harassment _or worse, _cowardice. _ But he seemed genuinely penitent, and very sweet in his admiration for her. She reached out a hand to touch his where it rested on the table.

"Tell me, Wayne, did you actually read some of the things Jane wrote?"

He looked down in surprise at her hand over his, then looked up to meet her eyes. It was like she _had_ hit him, only he felt it in his gut. He swallowed. "Yes, I read them. And I…I agreed with everything he said."

She smiled slowly, sweetly at him, and he felt suddenly at ease, relieved she hadn't unloaded on him like he deserved.

"Thanks. It was all very flattering. But I like this Wayne so much better, here in person, not hiding behind flowery words that aren't your own."

"You like me?" he asked, feeling foolishly like a twelve-year-old boy in front of his junior high crush. He was tempted to ask if she _liked him_ liked him.

"Yes, of course I do. You're such a genuinely nice guy. It's been hard to find many like you since I moved to California. And really handsome too," she added, an appreciative gleam in her eye. "You know, if it hadn't been against the rules, I might have been the one to invite you to my room that first case we worked together." Van Pelt's heart picked up a little at her own daring.

Rigsby himself remembered well the first day they'd met, how Jane had teased both of them mercilessly about how taken Rigsby had been with their new team member. He might have propositioned her too, if Jane hadn't tipped his hand, or, (if Rigsby were honest with himself), if he'd had the balls to do it.

He grinned, still blushing at the memory. "You don't have to say that, Grace. You're really being too nice about this whole thing. I'd punch a man if he did that to me."

Grace smiled mischievously, lacing her fingers with his and leaning closer over the table. "Are there many men sending you love poems, Wayne?"

He flushed anew, then chuckled in appreciation of her humor. "Well, you know how it is. _Handsome_ guy like me and all."

They stared at each other, smiling, warmth spreading up their arms from where their hands were still connected.

"Look, Grace. I know it's against the rules and all, but still…would you ever consider maybe…going out for dinner sometime?"

Her smile turned sad and he realized he had his answer. She stood then, releasing his hand with a squeeze, and he rose to his feet like his mother taught him. But as his heart sank into his stomach, he watched in surprise as she slowly walk around the table and stopped in front of him. He was a tall man, but she was tall for a woman, especially in high-heeled boots, and she need only arch her neck up a little in order to reach his lips. Before he'd even realized it was happening, she moved her soft mouth from his.

"Maybe," she whispered. "Sometime…"

She left him then, alone in the interrogation room, the scent of lilacs the only evidence that she'd been there at all. That, and Rigsby's gently pounding heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon received her second letter from Jane the next morning, this time slipped beneath her apartment door. She stopped short when she saw the familiar envelope, as fearful to pick it up as if it were on fire.

She realized now she had feelings for him that went far beyond friendship, thanks in part to his last letter. Now why couldn't he just leave her alone to try to deal with it?

She found that her hand was shaking as she bent her knees to retrieve it, and she carefully opened the envelope, the same expensive stationary only emphasizing the importance of the message—at least to Lisbon. She unfolded it, and, stomach quivering in dread, began to read.

_My Dear Teresa,_

_It occurred to me that our conversation day before yesterday might have been a bit upsetting for you. I'm sorry for my part in it. I was wrong (yes, you can quote me on that) to have said some of those things. I didn't really mean them. Scratch that—I really didn't mean for them to sound so harsh. You know me; I usually mean what I say, but sometimes I lack a bit of tact. (Quit rolling your eyes, Lisbon. Okay, are you done now?) _

Lisbon paused in her reading, laughing out loud at how well he knew her. She _had _rolled her eyes. She sniffed a little and continued, a small smile playing about her lips.

_We're friends, aren't we? As your friend, I just want you to be happy. The poem might have been to charm you out of your anger toward me, but I meant every word, just as I always say what I mean. Your happiness is important to me. Your friendship is important to me. You, dear Lisbon, are important to me._

_Let me take you out to dinner to make it up to you—any place you want. But please, for the love of any deity you might worship, __do not__ suggest Mr. Wong's or Burger Palace. Some place nice, where we can dress up. You deserve to be adored, Teresa. I meant it when I said that too._

_Yours,_

_P. Jane_

She re-read the letter twice more before returning it to its envelope and slipping it into her blazer jacket pocket with a soft smile. She smiled through morning traffic. Smiled as she drove through to pick up her coffee. She smiled as she parked and walked into the office, smiled some more when she caught sight of Jane sipping tea on his couch in the bullpen. He smiled back, lifting his cup a little in greeting, and she smiled some more when she called out her usual _good mornings _to the rest of the team before disappearing into her office.

Once settled into her chair, she pulled out the letter again, thinking of the hand that wrote it. Jane had the confident, graceful hands of an artist, a surgeon, or maybe a pianist. They'd caught her eye on many occasions-long, slim fingers holding a teacup, gesturing dramatically, sliding through his unruly hair, performing a card trick for her amusement. She wondered if hands were an indicator of the kind of lover someone was, and she felt her face heat as she looked at his beautiful handwriting, then focused again on what he'd written.

Jane had asked her out on a date. She knew she should feel tremendous trepidation about this, but she found she could not. Perhaps he just saw it as a friendly way to make things up to her, but she planned to use it as a test of her newfound feelings toward him. If she found she cared about him beyond the office doors, then she would know whether it had been more than just envy and loneliness causing her heart to skip a beat when she'd found his letter that morning, or when he'd smiled at her over his tea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty minutes later, Jane tapped on her door and walked right in without waiting for her consent-the better to catch her off guard again. The better to test his own feelings toward her. That had been the reason behind his offer of dinner as well. If he found he cared about her beyond the office doors, then he would know whether it had been more than just sympathy and loneliness causing his heart to skip a beat when she'd smiled at him in the bullpen earlier.

"Jane," she said, briefly startled at the suddenness of his entry, precisely as he'd intended. "Do come in," she said dryly.

"Lisbon." He noticed the familiar envelope sticking out of her pocket, and he found he was inordinately pleased that she'd brought it along with her. Perhaps she would bring it out and re-read it throughout the day. "Did you decide on where you want to go for dinner tonight?"

"Tonight?" she said, surprised apparently that he was moving so quickly. He really wanted to be relieved of some of this torture.

"Yeah. It's Friday. Unless you have other plans…"

She looked at him narrowly, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. He was hard to read as ever, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"No," she replied, "I don't have any plans. Same for you on a Friday night, eh?" she couldn't resist asking. A girl had to stick up for herself a little too.

He grinned good-naturedly. "Nope. Free as a bird. Where do you want to eat?"

She'd actually been thinking of it right as he'd walked in, a search engine already pulling up suggestions for an expensive steakhouse. Her eyes flicked to her computer screen.

"Norton's," she said smugly, noting the outrageously expensive entrees.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Needing to feed your inner carnivore, eh, Lisbon?"

"I'm rather hungry for some red meat all of a sudden," she said menacingly, "and I want it to hurt your pocketbook just enough to make you pay for that old maid remark."

He nodded, cringing inside a little in remembrance of his unfortunate words.

"Fair enough. I'd better get on the horn and see if I can get a reservation. I'll get back to you on the time."

She nodded casually, anticipation already making her heart flutter.

"Oh, Jane," she called after he'd already left her office. He backed up and popped his head and shoulders inside again. "Nice letter this morning."

He smiled gently at her. "You're welcome, Lisbon."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Neither of them was calling this a date, at least not to each other, but when Jane picked Lisbon up at her apartment at seven o'clock, it certainly seemed like one. He'd brought her flowers. He was wearing a tie. He could see her cleavage. There wasn't a better word for it than _date_.

"You look lovely," he told her, the way his eyes swept her strapless black dress telling her he meant it.

She felt her cheeks go pink. "Thank you. I like your tie." It was shiny and silky and the blue-green matched his eyes exactly.

"Thank you." For the first time in years, they both felt awkward in one another's company.

"These are for you," he said lamely, holding out the bouquet of lavender roses.

"Oh," she said. "How beautiful!"

She gestured that he come inside while she put them in water, and he stood watching her, admiring her bare back, realizing with a clench of his stomach that she couldn't possibly be wearing a bra beneath that dress. She'd curled her hair too, and it hung just above her shoulders in soft, defined corkscrews. She looked sexy and young and he was in no way looking at her as he would a friend.

She turned from the sink at that moment, seeing clearly his admiring appraisal, and she froze, vase and flowers in hand. After a moment under his intense regard, she set the vase on the small dining room table and walked back toward the door, a rush of warmth flowing through her at his masculine appreciation. She felt her confidence returning.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly. He shook his head a little, as if to clear his head, and gave her a forced grin.

"Uh,yeah; let's go." He opened the door for her and his hand fell naturally to her bare back. She couldn't help shivering a little at his touch, and she wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders so he wouldn't see that her trembling wasn't from the cool Sacramento evening.

Three steps away from her door, and the heel of her shoe promptly broke. She stumbled and Jane caught her before she fell, and she grabbed onto him instinctively.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, her ankle throbbing from where it had turned.

"Here, lean on me," he said, helping her back to her door. She bent over to remove her shoes as he held her steady, and he once again was caught off guard by the curve of her small hips beneath the clinging fabric of her dress, and the brief flash of deep cleavage as she awkwardly moved her body.

"Vanity, thy name is Jimmy Choo," he commented, earning an irritated look as she stood before him now, shoeless. She reached back into her small evening clutch for her keys to reopen the door.

"I bought these damn things eight years ago for my tenth high school reunion. Seven hundred bucks, and I've only worn them three times."

"Sorry, Teresa. They were nice shoes." _And they did spectacular things for your backside, _he finished to himself.

She sighed. "Just give me a minute and I'll find a different pair."

He grinned as she padded barefoot back to her bedroom.

A few minutes later, Lisbon newly shod, they walked to the parking lot to Jane's car. Or, to where Jane's car used to be.

"Where's my car?" he said, looking frantically around the parking lot. "Someone stole my damn car!"

"Are you sure you parked it here," she said calmly, as he stood in the disabled parking space where he claimed it had been parked.

"Yes, Lisbon. It was the closest open place."

"Well, it was parked illegally; maybe it got towed."

"I was only in your apartment ten minutes, tops. No, someone stole it."

"Why would they steal that piece of crap car of yours? And in ten minutes?"

He sighed indulgently, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "First of all, that _piece of crap _is a classic. Secondly, when I was a kid, I could hotwire a car in five minutes flat. It could be done. Well, obviously it was done. My goddamn car is gone." His hands gesticulated in frustration.

"You used to steal cars?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Well, more like borrow them to impress the girls. I'd put them right back where I found them though, good as new. I even refilled the gas tank if I had any money."

"How thoughtful," she said wryly. "Seems to me Karma's the one who stole your car tonight."

He ignored her jab. "Are you gonna call it in for me or not?"

She took out her cell phone and dialed Sac PD. "Captain Morrison, please," she said, while Jane's eyes continued to scan the parking lot. A moment later, and a man's deep, official voice filled her ear.

"Captain, this is Teresa Lisbon, CBI."

"Agent Lisbon, how may I help you?"

"I need an APB put out on a light blue, 1971 Citroen,"

"Eggshell blue," Jane clarified, and Lisbon amended the color, trying hard not to roll her eyes.

"It's license plate number is…"

Jane gave her a spate of numbers and letters, which she repeated back to the Captain.

"Citroen, eh?" mused the Captain. "Sounds like that consultant's of yours, Patrick Jane's car."

Lisbon cringed, knowing what was coming. "Yes," she said hesitantly. "It was stolen just minutes ago from the Walnut Grove apartment complex on East M street."

"You remember what Mr. Jane did last time he showed up at a Sac PD crime scene, don't you Agent Lisbon?"

She closed her eyes at the vivid memory. "Well, he'd just seen _Beverly Hills Cop, _and he claimed one of your officers was being snippy with him. He happened to have a banana and—"

"You know, Sergeant Moss got third degree burns trying to get that banana out of his car's tail pipe." Lisbon's hand went to her forehead in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Captain. Please, send me his medical bills and I'll make sure Jane pays them."

"He was being snippy," Jane muttered petulantly under his breath, having caught the gist of the conversation.

"Well, don't blame my men if they don't get into a big hurry to find your man's car."

"Please, sir, as a favor to the CBI, I'd really appreciate it if you took this APB seriously." She turned aside and whispered into the phone. "You can see what I have to deal with on a daily basis, Captain. If we don't find his car soon, he's gonna hound me to death about this."

She heard the man sigh on the other end of the line. "Fine. I have a couple of patrol cars in that area I'll have look around, maybe check out some of the local chop shops. But you owe me, Agent Lisbon."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir. And I'm sorry again for any inconvenience my consultant might have caused in the past. Please call me if you get any leads." She hung up and looked sternly at Jane. "Karma is revisiting you big time tonight, isn't she?"

"Aren't you gonna get Cho and Rigsby on this?"

"No, I am _not_ calling my agents into work on a Friday night unless it's a matter of life or death."

"Well, can _we_ go please? _Your_ car hasn't been stolen, and time is of the essence in these situations."

_There goes my steak dinner, _Lisbon thought morosely. "Okay. Let's go," she called, walking toward her SUV in resignation.

Two and a half hours later, after driving around the neighborhood to no avail, they pulled in front of Norton's Steakhouse. Jane got out and went to the locked door, then banged on it when he saw the hostess hovering anxiously around the front of the restaurant. He gestured that she come to the door. After a moment's hesitation, she complied, refusing to open it despite his impassioned pleas.

"We're closed, sir. Come back tomorrow night."

"But there are still people eating in there," he said, pointing toward the few remaining patrons who were finishing up their late suppers.

"The chef is no longer cooking, sir. The kitchen's closed."

"I'll pay you five hundred bucks to let us in and throw a couple of steaks on the grill."

"I'm sorry sir. We're—"

"Thanks for nothing!" he said. "And my money and I won't be back to this joint, ever!"

Back in the waiting car, Lisbon hunched down in the driver's seat in mortification.

"Seriously?" she said, pulling quickly away from the curb. "You've just banned us from the best steak place in town?"

"Clearly their customer service leaves something to be desired, Lisbon."

They drove around but found the same situation in every fine restaurant for five square miles. Even Mr. Wong's was closed. That left either some greasy spoon diner or the twenty-four hour drive- through of Burger Palace.

"I'm starving, and if I can't have steak…" Lisbon said, stopping at the outside menu, despite her passenger's protests. He sat looking out the side window, sulking. Without asking his preference, she ordered two cheeseburgers, fries, and two chocolate milkshakes, then drove to the nearest park. Amidst the homeless and the male and female prostitutes hanging around beneath the security lights, Jane and Lisbon ate their own late suppers inside her SUV.

"I'm sorry," Jane said, reluctantly biting into the greasy burger. "This isn't quite what I had in mind to make up for my recent bad behavior."

"Yes, Jane. The way to make up for bad behavior is not _more _bad behavior."

He smirked around his mouthful and allowed himself to relax, his natural good humor restored with the fat-laden sustenance. Their burgers really were good, he thought, though he would never admit that to Lisbon.

"You're right, of course. But what I'm most sorry for now is that you wasted such a pretty dress on Burger Palace."

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself," she said, and he saw the flash of her smile in the darkness of the car. "And Jane, I _am_ sorry about your car. I'm sure it was just some teenagers off on a joyride."

"Probably. But you know how joyrides frequently end."

In crashes and abandonment, Lisbon knew. She frowned around her French fry. "Sorry," she repeated sincerely.

"Aw, well, the Citroen and I had a good run, she and I. All good things, etc., etc."

"Not _all_ good things," she said, toasting him with her milk shake. "Burger Palace has never let me down."

He chuckled. "Maybe you should get your cholesterol checked before you say that."

She grinned, but dug into her burger with new gusto, just to spite him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After they ate, she drove him back to the extended stay motel he was occupying that month.

"I'll make this up to you, Lisbon, I swear," he said as she stopped in the parking lot and turned off the engine.

"Don't worry about it, Jane. I wouldn't say I had a good time, but it certainly wasn't like the usual dull and predictable dates I'm used to."

There. She'd been the first one to say the _D-word. _ Of course, he couldn't resist pouncing on that one.

"Is that was this was? A date?"

She was glad he couldn't see her blushing in the relative darkness.

"Well, we both dressed up and at least _planned _to go to a fancy restaurant…"

"If this was in fact a date, Lisbon, there's a traditional way these things end."

Her pulse picked up speed as he reached across the console and took her hand. He held her knuckles to his lips, grinning because she smelled of hamburgers and perfume. He pressed his partly opened mouth to her soft skin, allowed his wet tongue to briefly taste her. He closed his eyes, shaken by the contact more than he cared to admit.

He looked up a moment later, and saw that Lisbon had been just as affected by the old-fashioned gesture as he was. Her free hand came out, and she placed it affectionately on his smoothly shaven cheek, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Thank you," she said, a touch of humor beneath her solemn expression, "I had a lovely time."

He mimicked her demeanor, his eyes sparkling back at her. "We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Minus the broken heel, the car hunt, and the greasy burgers," she said, giving in to her amusement and grinning at him.

At that precise moment, Jane felt an overwhelming desire to kiss her, and not just on the hand. She instantly sensed the change in the air, how the SUV was filled suddenly with the electricity of mutual attraction and longing. Frightened of her own feelings, she tried to pull her hands away from the overwhelming physical contact, but he held fast to her hand, and leaned slowly across the console, his intention achingly clear.

She closed her eyes and waited for the first touch of his lips on hers. When it came, it was light as a feather, brief as a flash of light, but it shot straight to her heart, straight to the very core of her. Jane leaned back into his seat as if to catch his breath, and she noted through her haze of shock the quick rise and fall of his chest.

"Good night, Teresa," he said breathlessly, releasing her hand and opening the car door.

She watched him climb the stairs up to the outside corridor of the cheap motel, pull a key from his pocket, and disappear inside his room. She closed her eyes and leaned her heated forehead against the steering wheel, trying to pull herself together for the drive home.

A/N: I took some of my inspiration for this chapter from the "Moonlighting" episode, "Symphony in Knocked Flat," lol. I didn't copy it exactly, but I realized I didn't want Jane and Lisbon's first date to be stereotypically perfect and romantic, which David and Maddie's definitely was not on that hilarious episode. Oh, well, we get our inspiration where we can find it. (By the way, for a good laugh,you can check it out on Youtube.)

And don't worry about Jane's car—I'm sure it will turn up eventually…

Thanks for reading! And reviews are always welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: For those of you expecting an episode tag from me for "Always Bet on Red," I'm still mulling over that disturbing show in my mind, so if I do write one, it will come later than usual. (I did write a tag to this past week's "Castle", so if you are interested, please click on my name and find it on my list of fics.) In the meantime, check out Little Mender's tag for the episode entitled "By the Will." You won't be disappointed.

Now, to this story. **Caution: extreme fluffiness ahead! ** If you don't like romance novels, fairy tales, or chick flicks, turn back now! You have been warned!

Still here? Well, come on in, the water is fluffy!

**Chapter 5**

The next morning, Lisbon returned to Jane's motel. She knocked once on the cheap door, but softly, suddenly mindful of waking him on a Saturday morning because she knew how poorly he slept, but she'd been calling him for the last ten minutes with no answer as she sat in her car in the motel lot, and she was concerned. Not _worried._ Concerned. She told herself he might have used public transportation to go somewhere, or maybe Cho or Rigsby had given him a ride, or he did like to take walks. She had the feeling though he was in his room, and if their kiss—brief though it was—had gotten to her so much, she worried a little how it had affected Jane. And so, finally, her frazzled mind working overtime, she'd climbed the steps to his room.

She waited outside a full minute before she heard the harried unlocking of the door, the sliding of the chain. He'd likely seen her through the peephole, for the door suddenly flew open, and there he was. She froze, staring at him in shock.

"Lisbon," he said in a surprised rush. And it was hard to surprise Jane. But the way he looked in that moment, she'd definitely beaten him in the surprise department.

She didn't have to be a CBI agent to see that the man had just gotten out of the shower—rather hastily, given the way water still trickled down his face from his wet hair. She followed the course of one tiny rivulet down his smooth, bare chest, visible through the rather wide _V_ of his robe, as it disappeared into thirsty terry cloth. The robe, light blue and loosely belted at his waist, was obviously a remnant of his more indulgent past, for it looked thick and expensive, his monogram embroidered in darker blue over his heart. Her eyes followed the line of blue to his damp, hairy blonde calves and bare, well-formed feet, before flicking hastily up to meet his amused sea green gaze.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back from his clean-shaven face, bringing his beautiful features into sharp relief, and she nearly gasped out loud at the unconsciously (or consciously?) sexy movement. He smiled slowly, knowingly at her, reading her mind, the tension buzzing sensually between them.

"Hi," she said at last, embarrassed now that he could read her so well. "I uh— your car was found."

At this, the spell was slightly broken between them at the good news, and Jane stepped aside to allow her to enter his room. It was neat as a pin, from the made-up bed to the small refrigerator and microwave, to the table for two near the window. She smelled the remnants of his breakfast—tea and toast?—as she came in and sat on the edge of his bed. He took a seat in the ratty easy chair near her, and at once overtaking the breakfast odors was the distracting freshness of his soap and shampoo.

"So, how bad is it?" he asked as if about to hear serious medical results. He really did love that stupid car, she thought in mild amusement. She cleared her throat of her residual nervousness.

"It's stripped of the tires, but otherwise undamaged. SacPD found it in an alley about three blocks from my apartment. Guess it wasn't worth enough to the thieves to try to sell it," she teased, straight-faced. "They didn't even take the state of the art am radio."

"Nice, Lisbon. Kick a guy when his car's down. So, where is it now?"

Her lips twitched a little, unsure whether he would think this was really a laughing matter. It was his _car_, after all, and she'd been around enough boys and men to understand what that meant.

"I had them take it to a mechanic I use not far from my place. I thought I'd come by and take you over there, since you're currently without, uh, wheels." She couldn't help grinning now at her own pun, and was pleased to see him return it.

"Well, that was kind of you, Lisbon. Let me just slip on my clothes so you can be rid of me and get on with your Saturday."

He looked at her expectantly, not wanting to rudely state that she needed to leave, and she realized again with a blush that he was naked beneath that robe. She rose awkwardly and nodded, moving toward the door.

"I'll just…wait in the car."

He grinned at her, and her last glimpse of him over her shoulder was of his hands reaching for the belt of his robe.

Lisbon waited downstairs in her SUV, heart pounding. The memory of Jane's soft mouth had kept her awake all night, and the more she thought about his carefree and confident reaction to her in his room the more annoyed she became. Wasn't he as shaken up by their kiss as she had been? He'd seemed nervous to see her at first, but he'd lapsed seamlessly into their familiar, easy banter, seeming not the least nonplussed at their new and surprising mutual attraction. After all, she had the distinct impression—though she wasn't sure from where-that he hadn't kissed a woman since his wife was murdered, at least not with any romantic intent. But then she remembered what a great conman he was, and oddly, that thought was an immediate comfort to her.

Lisbon only had to wait ten minutes before Jane emerged from his room, in his usual uniform of three-piece suit sans tie. He smiled sunnily and climbed into the passenger's seat. His damp hair made her heart skip a beat, as a vision of him in the shower flashed in her mind's eye.

"I really do appreciate this, Lisbon," he was saying, as she tried to get a handle on her wayward thoughts.

"No problem. I guess I feel partly responsible, given your car was stolen from my parking lot."

"Well, it made for an exciting evening, anyway." And when he glanced at her, there was a mischievous gleam in his eye. She blushed, as he'd intended.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sorry, sir, but we have to special order tires like that; we don't have any in stock here. It should only take a few days to get them in, though."

Jane sighed in frustration across the counter from the mechanic. "A few days? So when then? Tuesday? Wednesday?"

"Today's Saturday, so they likely wouldn't ship out until Monday, if you pay the extra for express delivery, that is. Wednesday is about right."

Jane looked at Lisbon sheepishly, knowing that he'd be at someone else's mercy—more than likely hers—for the next five days. Jane filled out the paperwork and walked out of the garage with Lisbon.

"Sorry for all the extra expense," she said lamely. "At least the city didn't charge you for towing, as a favor to me."

Jane made one of his odd sounds of displeasure.

They got back into the SUV and Lisbon made no move to start the vehicle. She turned to look at a solemn Jane.

"Well, I'm at your disposal," she told him. "Where to? Laundromat? Grocery store? New car lot?"

"Now, Lisbon, no more cracks about my car, if you don't mind. It's a classic."

"You can call it that as much as you like, Jane, but crap by any other name is still crap. It stalls at stop lights and I've lost count of the number of times I've had to pick you up in the morning because it won't start."

"It happens to the best of us, Lisbon. Besides, getting its tires stolen wasn't exactly the Citroen's fault."

"Ha," Lisbon replied unreasonably under her breath. Jane raised an amused eyebrow, but decided it best to change the subject.

"You can just take me back to the motel, please, if you don't mind."

"You sure? I mean, I don't have anything pressing…"

_Was that a hint of disappointment in her voice?_

"Yeah. Take Eighth Street," he directed. "It's faster." He knew she hated him giving instructions on the best routes, but there was a method to his madness.

She made a huffing noise that had him smiling, then pulled out into traffic, heading toward Eighth.

"Hey," Lisbon said brightly, as they came to a blocked part of the street. "A Farmer's Market! I forgot this was down here. I've always wanted to come."

"Hmm," said Jane noncommittally. He knew she shared his love of fresh produce. She slowed the vehicle, then glanced hopefully at Jane.

"You wanna stop?"

"Sure, I'm game," he said.

They had to drive around a few minutes to find an empty parking space on the busy street-the market was very popular-but finally, they both were jumping out of the car, spirits suddenly lifted in the beauty of the fall morning. The Market was crowded, and laughter, chatter, and guitar music from a local musician filled the air.

Lisbon's eyes grew wide at the myriad of produce booths, as well as baked goods, nuts, cheeses, wines, and other area products. Jane just smiled at her joyous reactions, and she began buying things and even haggling good-naturedly with some of the vendors. He soon became her willing pack mule, his arms filling up with bags of apples, farmer's cheese, and whole almonds. He also gladly sampled the slices of fruit she slipped into his mouth, humming in appreciation at a particularly sweet pear. Their eyes met as he chewed, and a jolt of awareness passed through them both. When his tongue reached out to lick the residual juice from his lips, her eyes widened, and she turned quickly back to the pear vendor. Jane smiled to himself over the pounding of his own pulse as she promptly bought three of the perfectly ripened fruits.

While Lisbon was paying for them, Jane bought her a bouquet of giant sunflowers from a neighboring booth, so by the time she turned back to look for him, he presented her with the beautiful yellow and brown blooms.

She smiled and blushed, accepting the offering. "Thank you. At this rate, my apartment is going to look like a florist lives there." She was remembering the lovely lavender roses still on her kitchen table from the night before. Their delicate scent had greeted her that morning.

"No less than you deserve, Lisbon," he said, his eyes soft on hers.

A few more purchases and they'd reached the end of the vendors. To avoid the worst of the crowds they gave the Market a wide berth on the way back to the car via the small park across the street. Both of them were silent and unusually happy as they strolled, lost in thoughts in appreciation for the day, for each other. Jane shifted the bags to one arm, and gently laced his newly freed fingers with hers. She stiffened at first at the unexpected contact, glanced down at their entwined fingers, then held on more tightly, their joined hands swinging naturally between them.

"It's a shame to waste such a beautiful day indoors, don't you think?" Jane asked, his eyes taking in the picnicking families in the park, the teenagers throwing a Frisbee to their dog, the young lovers feeding each other fruit on a plaid blanket.

"It is nice today," she said shyly, so when they miraculously discovered an empty wooden picnic table, Jane commandeered it, gently laying down the bags of Market booty. They sat on one of the table's benches, Lisbon passing Jane her cup of freshly squeezed lemonade, which he sipped through the straw with a smile at its sweetness. She let him take her hand again and they watched the people enjoying the noontime sunshine.

Jane had just turned to study how the sun played on Lisbon's hair when he felt something bump into his old brown shoe. He looked down curiously to see a small, red rubber ball, and then up again as a boy of about eight came running up to retrieve it.

"Ben!" cried whom Jane assumed was his mother. Jane picked up the ball and was delighted to see the child was carrying two others.

"Aw," Jane said, a twinkle in his eye. "I detect a novice juggler in our midst, Lisbon."

The boy nodded shyly, accepting the return of his toy from Jane's hand. By then, his mother had arrived, smiling apologetically.

"He saw this guy giving a lesson on TV, and he's been practicing constantly the last few days," she told them.

"Really? Juggling is a very important skill to learn," said Jane seriously to the boy. "Show me what you got, kid."

The boy looked to his mother for permission, and at her encouraging nod, he began to juggle. He managed the three balls for a few moments, then dropped them all in the grass with a frustrated growl.

"May I?" Jane asked, looking first at his mom.

"He was in the circus," Lisbon murmered by way of explanation.

"The carnival, Lisbon," Jane corrected in mock annoyance. "There's a difference you know." He turned to the expectant boy. "Ben, is it? Well, I started juggling about your age, and let me tell you, it took me weeks to get to where you are already. With a few pointers, you could be juggling on the stage in no time!"

Jane and the mom both rolled their eyes at his exaggerated encouragement.

"Really?" asked Ben excitedly.

"Really. Now, watch my hands…"

Jane gave the tips he'd promised, throwing the balls in the air effortlessly, and then he returned them to the boy, who promptly attempted and obviously improved. The adults clapped in appreciation.

"Can you do any tricks?" asked Ben.

"Well, it's been awhile," said Jane. "But I can try." But Lisbon had no doubt he could juggle knives or even chainsaws, knowing him.

He reached behind him for the bag of apples.

"Not my Red Delicious," Lisbon protested.

Jane smirked at her protectiveness of a bagful of fruit. "I promise they will be returned unscathed."

Jane removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and began juggling the three red balls again, this time doing a few tricky variations.

"This is the Georgian Shuffle," he said, grinning at the little boy's gasp of pleasure.

Jane moved his hands in a criss-crossing motion. "And this...this is called...The Kraken."

"Like in that pirate movie," said the boy.

"Wow," said Ben's mother, totally pulled in by Jane's skill, grace, and natural charm.

_Of course he can juggle brilliantly, _thought Lisbon in amused exasperation._ What __**can't**__ this man do?_

Then he instructed Lisbon to start tossing apples to his hands. Soon, to the delight of a rapidly gathering audience, he had a combination of nine apples and balls in the air, moving into the open away from the trees as the orbs went higher and higher into the air. After a minute of this amazing fete, he let everything fall to the ground amidst entertained applause. Jane grinned and inclined his head as the crowd dispersed.

"Show off," Lisbon mumbled, but he knew she was impressed.

"That was so cool!" said Ben. Jane picked up the rubber balls and gave them back to their owner.

"Remember, Ben, the key is not to watch your hands, but to pay attention to all the balls in the air. That's also a good lesson for life, my boy." His eyes met Lisbon's, but she just shook her head indulgently.

"Say thank you to the nice man," said Ben's mom with a smile.

"Thanks!"

Jane watched the pair leave, a wistful expression on his face. Lisbon realized Jane's daughter must have been about that age when she died, and this time it was she who reached for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. He squeezed back, then stooped to pick up her apples.

"Teach me," she said.

"What?" Jane asked, retrieving the bag for the fruit. "You mean to juggle?" He set the bag back on the table.

"Well, yeah. Just three, and none of that fancy stuff...at least not yet."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why?_ You told that boy it was an important skill to have."

He smirked. "To impress the girls, Lisbon. It must still work; I take it you were in awe of the dexterity of my hands."

She blushed, remembering her recent thoughts about the beauty of his hands and her prediction about their prowess in other areas.

"You do manage to keep lots of balls in the air at one time," she replied, but it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. He regarded her a moment, as if trying to decide if she were a worthy enough candidate to learn the fine art of juggling.

"Very well then, Lisbon. Hold out your hand."

He set one apple in her right hand. She looked down at in confusion. "You're teaching me to juggle with one ball? You think I lack the coordination to at least start with two?"

"Let me be the teacher, Lisbon. Although a wise man once said you can't really teach a person to juggle, you teach a person to teach _themselves _to juggle."

"You have a strange definition of wisdom."

He grinned, then took an apple to show her the ropes. Soon, through many mishaps, much laughter, and one dropped and stepped on apple, she was juggling two apples successfully.

"Now, are you ready for three?" he asked and showed her the proper method with his own trio of apples.

Jane stood back and watched her try to perfect the new task, and he found himself laughing out loud for the first time in years. Her expressions when she missed were priceless. Lisbon was very competitive, especially against herself, and the more often she dropped the apples, the more determined she became.

"Dammit," she cursed, dropping two apples for what felt like the hundredth time. She shot Jane a look of annoyance. "I'm pretty sure you'd make a terrible teacher, Jane. Laughing at your student isn't the best way to encourage or endear them."

"I'm sorry, Lisbon, truly," he said contritely. "Here," he said picking up the apples and placing them gently back in her hands. "Try again. You know, It's like good sex," Jane continued helpfully as she resumed juggling. "Once you get the rhythm right, it just gets better and better."

A bark of surprised laughter escaped her, and thus distracted by his outrageously out of character statement, Lisbon's eyes fell away a split second from the flying spheres. She moved awkwardly to avoid being hit on the head or feet as the fruit fell around her, but in the process, she stumbled forward. Jane was there to catch her round the waist, his widest smile creasing his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes. His breath caught and held as he looked at her, how her green eyes were bright with mirth, how her breasts rose and fell in laughter and exertion, along with something else that had his own pulse racing.

"Aw, Lisbon," he whispered affectionately, and, placing his hands on either of her soft cheeks, he closed his eyes and swallowed her laughter with his mouth.

She tasted of joy and the sweet tang of sugar and lemons, and he wanted to consume her, take all of her warmth and absorb it into a body frozen in time for the last five years. He readjusted his head and took the kiss deeper, his tongue teasing hers as a wave of passion bubbled up from within and he pulled her more tightly against his body. She inhaled him in with a gasp and she stood with her hands hanging lamely at her sides as he slowly kissed her. And suddenly she was kissing him back, her tongue tangling with his, her small hands wrapping around his back, her body trembling under the onslaught of his seeking lips.

The world around them fell away, and all Jane knew was this woman who had managed to sneak beneath the walls of pain and distance he'd erected since he'd lost his family. For a few brief moments, he let go of the bitterness of his tragic past and embraced the sweetness of his present-the warmth of the sunshine on his head, the soft grass beneath his feet, the distant sounds of laughter and play, the passionate woman in his arms. For a few brief moments, he could taste his future on her tongue, and for the first time in years, he wasn't afraid.

A/N: I'm not going to apologize for the fluffiness of this chapter. It made me feel happy to write it! I hope you felt the same. The next chapter will have their reactions to this new step in their relationship. Hope you haven't been too scared away to miss it…

*A note about the juggling scene and the little boy. There is a tragic story in recent news about a little boy who died accidentally, who was a great little juggler. It even happened at a Farmer's Market! I want you to know that this story was already in the works with my own scenes when this news story hit. I contemplated rewriting it, out of respect for that poor little boy, but this is a happy story, with a completely different situation, so I hope you don't think I'm in any way capitalizing on that tragedy. It was just an unfortunate coincidence, I promise you. My thoughts and prayers are with his family.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks so much for all the kind reviews for this fic. So glad you are embracing the fluff! This chapter contains a lot of talk. I mean, **a lot**. I always find dialogue heavy chapters to be much more interesting and fun. I hope you agree…

**Chapter 6**

Lisbon was abruptly pulled away from the most perfect kiss of her life by the loud wolf whistles of passing teenage boys. Jane reluctantly raised his head, looking down into Lisbon's startled green eyes, his entire body shaking in reaction.

"Go, dude! Kiss her again! She's begging for it!" came the catcalls of the nearby miscreants.

Jane glanced at them in supreme patience, grinned at Lisbon, and, as a good showman always does, gave the audience what they wanted. Lisbon's protests were muffled against his mouth, and Jane dramatically dipped her body back a little, kissing her as if there were no tomorrow. More whistling and comments ensued, and Jane at last felt Lisbon's renewed passion, her hands holding onto his upper arms for dear life as they entertained the crowd.

The boys moved on, spouting more laughter and crude remarks, and Jane brought Lisbon's body gently upright, his mouth moving from her mouth to her cheek, then to her ear. She shivered at his hot breath.

"I think they're gone."

"Huh?"

She stepped away from him, a little unsteady, then the reality of what had just happened with Jane hit her, and she looked up at him with an expression akin to awe.

"What the hell just happened?" she breathed roughly.

"Well, some teenagers walked by—" Jane began, being deliberately obtuse.

"Jane! The kissing. The damn kisses. What the hell-?" She gestured helplessly.

Jane's mischievous smirk slowly disappeared, and he reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck in a rare display of bewilderment.

"I don't know, Lisbon. Or, should I call you Teresa now? I mean, we've uh—"

"_Kissed_, Jane. We've _kissed_. We've been _kissing_." She was starting to sound a wee bit hysterical.

"Yeah, that. I don't know, Lisbon. I guess I just got caught up in the moment. The juggling, the fruit…so much fruit…" His words trailed away in disbelief at what he had done—what they had done together. "Should I say I'm sorry?" he asked uncertainly.

She blanched. "Are you?"

He stared at her, head turned slightly to the side, lost in thought for a full minute. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "No. At least, I don't think so. I'm not used to being so unsure of something. What are _you_ thinking, might I ask? My powers of observation are rather befuddled right now…" His expression was sheepish.

Lisbon's eyes were drawn to his hands, where he was nervously twisting his wedding ring around his finger, and with that, reality gave her a good slap in the face. _Her_ powers of observation were telling her that she had just made a hopelessly colossal mistake with a man still in love with his dead wife.

Jane saw where she was looking, glanced down at his unconscious action and abruptly dropped his hands. He made an anxious step toward her.

"Lisbon," he began, but she'd turned her back on him to move toward the picnic table, picking up their purchases and obviously preparing to leave.

"No, Jane. It's okay," she said blandly, still not facing him. "You're right, it was the heat of the moment, the excitement of the…the fruit. Let's get back to the car and I'll take you home." She began walking purposefully toward the parking lot.

"Lisbon—"

But she was now in no mood to talk, and Jane realized that he probably shouldn't talk anymore either, not until he'd thought things through. And he knew he couldn't do that here, with her, not with the sun shining in her hair, and the smell of apples hanging in the air. He caught up with her and reached for a couple of the bags to ease her burden. At first she held tight to them in a familiar display of independence, but when she looked up and met his eyes, saw the kindness there along with a touch of his usual humor, she relented, allowing him to take the two heaviest bags. They walked back to her SUV in silence.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon was there Monday morning, waiting in her SUV to pick Jane up before work. He'd received a text ten minutes before, telling him she'd be waiting, just when he was about to call a taxi, or maybe Cho. He was surprised to hear from her, as they'd maintained radio silence since The Kissing Debacle on Saturday, and he wondered if she had come to any conclusions about where they went from there. The fact that she was there to pick him up was a good sign, he supposed, but he found himself uncharacteristically nervous when he saw her car pull in the parking lot of his cheap motel.

He grabbed his suit coat and paused before the closed door. He'd come to a couple of conclusions himself over the past few days, and he hoped with all his heart that he and Lisbon were on the same page. With a resigned sigh and a quick pass of his fingers to smooth down his hair, he opened the door and trotted down the stairs to where Lisbon waited.

"Hi," she said as he climbed aboard.

"Hi. Thanks for picking me up. I was about to call Cho, but he's clear across town…"

"Yeah. No problem. It's on my way anyway."

"Well, I really appreciate it. I mean, have you seen the city busses?"

Despite her own nervousness, Lisbon's lips quirked in amusement. "I thought I'd save you from ruining your nice suit sitting on those dirty seats."

Jane shuddered. "Yeah, who knows where those seats have been?"

There came a silence, although it wasn't truly awkward. More like…hesitant.

"Jane—"

"Lisbon—"

They both spoke at once, and Jane grinned but nodded toward her.

"Ladies first."

She removed her seatbelt and turned to him in her seat, turning of the ignition.

"About Saturday…I think we should just chalk it up to the heat of the moment, and try to move on. We have to work together, and I don't want any discomfort to interfere with either of us doing our jobs. We make a good team, Jane. Why complicate it with personal stuff?"

She released an audible sigh, and Jane stared at her, his eyes assessing her in that totally disconcerting way he had.

"You've been practicing that little speech all weekend, haven't you?"

"Jane—"

He held up his hand. "Okay, you said your piece—my turn now. First, _heat of the moment?_ While juggling? Come on, Lisbon; you can do better than that. There have been quite a few heated moments lately, so I think what happened in the park had been building since I wrote that poem for you. Looking back, it wasn't just a way to ruffle your feathers—I meant every word. Then our date Friday night, the way you looked at me in my robe Saturday morning, the way you kissed me Saturday afternoon. They all add up, don't you see?"

"They add up to only what we choose to make of it, Jane," she said, blushing as she relived each moment he'd mentioned.

"It's understandable that when two people—male and female people—work together day after day, there might arise some understandable…feelings. It doesn't necessarily mean anything—"

"Bullshit," he said softly. Her eyes flew to his, startled by his profanity. He held up his left hand, where his white gold band glinted in the soft light streaming in through the windshield. "It's this, isn't it?"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain anything to me," she said softly.

"I think I do. You know why I still wear this? It's not just a means to fight the women off." He smiled at his own joke, but Lisbon had seen him use his ring for that very reason, which was why she knew he really wasn't ready for a relationship if he couldn't even let a woman buy him a drink.

"I know that. And I'm not asking you to—" she searched her mind for the appropriate word—"to change."

"I wear it so I won't forget what I did. Forget them."

"Now _that's_ bullshit," she said, but not unkindly. "You won't forget, Jane. Ever. You know that. I think you're lying, either to yourself or to me. I think you wear it because you're still in love with your wife. And that's totally understandable, and you shouldn't have to suddenly give that up before you're ready." _If you're ever ready, _she finished sadly to herself.

"I'm not ready to let go completely. You're right. I still love her. But I know she's gone, Teresa. And I know that Saturday, I wasn't thinking about her one second that I was kissing you."

He reached for her hand and she let him take it, the dampness of her palms a testament to the tension in her body. The earnestness in his gaze made her so want to believe his words, but she wondered if she believed him only because she wanted so much for him to be telling her the truth.

"I can see you have doubts; I don't blame you. It might sound a bit hypocritical of me, since I'm not a very patient man, but I'm asking for you to be patient with me." He looked at her, his eyes imploring. "Please?"

His hand was holding hers, a thumb massaging her knuckles in an almost mesmerizing way. And then he smiled, and she realized why she had never been able to resist his persuasion in the past. He'd been hypnotizing her with his smile the past four years, wearing down her resistance, making her into his willing minion. She grinned suddenly and shook her head at him in exasperation.

"What's that grin for, Agent Lisbon?" he asked in amusement. She had the feeling he already knew the answer though.

"You really are a master of manipulation, aren't you?"

"Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully.

"I want to say yes. I'd like to know if whatever this is will work between us. But there are so many obstacles. There's your past. Hell, there's _my _past. And there's work. I don't want to mess with how well we work together."

Of course, he had to pounce upon the least important of her list.

"What do you mean _your_ past?"

She froze, slipping her hand from his and resolutely turning forward in her seat. Apparently this was her signal that the conversation was over. She started the engine.

"We're not talking about me right now."

"You brought it up. Now Lisbon, my past is an open book. Yours seems suddenly to be fraught with mystery. I'm intrigued. What could possibly have happened in your life that could interfere with us? I know you had a tough childhood, but I don't see in you any lasting psychological effects. If anything, your experiences made you the strong woman you are today."

"There's nothing. Never mind. We're gonna be late for work." She faced forward, seemingly intent on the road, but Jane could tell that on the inside, she was roiling.

She shifted the SUV into drive and pulled slowly out of the parking lot.

"You realize that denying me this information is like showing red to a bull."

"Bull is right," she said beneath her breath, then, louder: "I don't want to talk about this right now.

"What was it then, Lisbon? A young marriage? College experimentation?"

"Jane," she said, the warning note in her voice very clear. The bull charged anyway.

"I'm fairly sure it wasn't drugs," he mused to himself. "Alcohol might have played a part, but was not at the heart of whatever this was. A love child maybe?"

"Jane!" she looked completely horrified, taken so off guard she had to swerve a little to avoid hitting a car in the next lane.

"Nah," he said dismissively, not missing a beat. "You're too careful for that."

She gripped the steering wheel more tightly. "Okay, if you don't shut up, I'm seriously reconsidering this whole damn thing."

"Come on, Lisbon. Deep down, you know you want to tell me, otherwise you wouldn't have brought it up. And you also know I'll figure it out eventually anyway, so you may as well save us both the time and trouble and confess all."

"Sorry, Father Jane, my past will have to remain one mystery you just can't crack."

She caught his knowing grin from the corner of her eye and felt her heart quicken.

Last time she'd gotten too close to a colleague, she'd ended up doing something she was still torn in two about, and the last thing she wanted was for things to end up that way with Jane. She'd made a promise once, and she didn't feel comfortable sharing a secret that wasn't hers to tell.

Much to her relief, Jane behaved the rest of the way to CBI Headquarters, but she knew he was mulling over every possibility in that infuriatingly perceptive brain of his. He wasn't going to let this go, and she kicked herself for being so careless with expressing her thoughts. But he totally knocked her off balance, which made her once again second-guess what she was doing with him.

When Lisbon pulled in to her usual parking slot, she killed the engine and looked at her companion. "You're not going to embarrass me in there, are you?" she asked, inclining her head toward the building. He could tell that she was actually very worried about what he might do, and it sobered him a little.

"No. What happens at the Farmer's Market—or anywhere else outside the office—stays there. I'm not one to kiss and tell, Lisbon, are you?"

He could almost see the relief washing over her. "No. Thank you."

Jane looked around quickly, then leaned over the console between their seats to press a quick kiss to her cheek. She blushed at the contact, and found herself reaching surreptitiously for his hand again. "I believe you owe me a date, Jane," she said softly. He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a loving squeeze.

"Yes," he said softly, invitingly, his eyes simmering with thoughts of what could sometimes happen on dates. "How about tonight?"

She grinned in spite of herself at his eagerness. "You aren't a patient man, are you?"

"Nope."

"I'll see you after work then," she said, impatience welling in her own heart.

"It's a date. But I guess you'll have to drive," he said morosely glancing around the SUV's interior, missing his Citroen for the hundredth time since Friday.

"It works for me," Lisbon said, reaching for the door handle. "Besides, at least I know we'll get there and back in one piece." She stepped down from the SUV—and all of its intact wheels—to make her way confidently inside the HQ. Jane soon followed, resisting the urge to catch up with her and kiss her sassy mouth senseless.

A/N: I hope you liked that. It would have been totally unrealistic not to have addressed Jane's past. I wanted to have the Jane in this story be a little more open to the possibility of love, and I set it in season 1 so that he hadn't yet experienced three to four more years of the pain of more RJ deaths and confrontations. I would like to think that if Jane and Lisbon had fallen in love in season 1, maybe he could have broken free of his single-minded quest for

revenge. Please let me know what you think.

Also, regarding this week's episode…I'm stumped as to what to focus on for a tag, so I thought I'd ask you guys. When you post your review of this chapter (hint hint) please let me know whether you'd like me to write a Van Pelt follow-up, Rigsby and Sarah, or Lisbon and Jane. I need to watch the episode again, but I'd love to have your input. Thanks for your help!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Caution: More fluff and unashamed romance ahead. A little less talky and more "action-y" too. And keep in mind that this is Season 1, so some of the things that happened in later seasons haven't happened yet. I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 7**

Lisbon received her third letter from Jane that afternoon. He must have slipped inside her office when she'd stepped out a moment, as she found the familiar envelope propped against her computer as before. With a smile and a light blush, she opened the seal.

_Dearest Teresa,_

_I want to feel your heart beating against mine._

_Dance with me._

_J._

_P.S. Pick me up at 8:00._

What would it be like to dance with Patrick Jane? To feel his arms around her, so close that they could feel each other's hearts beating, like the image he'd planted in her mind? She shivered, at the same time feeling hot all over. She was struck with the sudden, intense desire to see him, to feel the warmth of his smile as he looked at her.

She peered out into the bullpen through her office window, but saw no sign of her future date. Since there were no new cases, she'd noted that he'd been alternately reading or sleeping on his couch most of the day, but he wasn't there now. She took a quick, casual tour of the Serious Crimes Unit floor, and was disappointed not to have found him in the break room or any of the interrogation rooms for that matter. He'd apparently left work, though he had to have taken some alternate transportation.

According to his postscript, she'd be picking him up at home. She was used to his strange comings and goings, so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised, but she thought that, given their new intimacy, he might have at least said good-bye. She tried not to feel too hurt, but neither had he spoken to her except in passing the entire day. Was he playing some mentalist reverse psychology game with her? Building up the tension for later? If so, he was doing a bang-up job of it, for she certainly felt tense and filled with a sharp sense of expectancy.

She couldn't stop thinking of the man, of their kisses, of feeling like a teenager with a crush on the quarterback, except she must try to think of a better analogy, for the thought of Jane in football regalia made her laugh out loud. She found her way back to the bullpen in time to see that Grace had received a delivery of her own.

A small white box sat in the middle of her desk, and Rigsby was looking on in rapt interest.

Lisbon stopped in the doorway to watch. When the redhead slipped the tape away from the box lid, she gasped in delight, reaching in to pull out one perfect, white gardenia.

"How gorgeous!" she exclaimed in awe. Lisbon could smell the fragrant flower all the way from where she was standing.

Van Pelt's eyes flew to Rigsby, and Lisbon frowned, but the man only shrugged, looking suddenly very jealous. Bewildered, Van Pelt looked back down at her flower, and noticed that it sat upon a folded slip of paper. All eyes remained on her as she opened it.

_Forgive me._

_Jane_

Van Pelt's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes watered a little.

"Who's it from?" Rigsby could stand the suspense no longer.

"Jane," she said. "And I was so mean to him."

"He deserved it," Lisbon said.

Her three team members turned to her, startled by her presence.

"Yes he did," Cho agreed succinctly, shooting a disapproving glance at Rigsby, who remained sheepishly silent.

As she walked back toward her office, Lisbon was smiling to herself. Despite all of Jane's foibles—and they were innumerable—he was actually a very kind man. Good with pets and children. A loyal friend when it came down to it. And sexier than a man had the right to be. In many ways, great husband material. She stopped short in the middle of the hallway, a wave of something like panic washing over her. It was not a good idea to think of Jane in any kind of dependable role in her life. Hell, half the time he didn't even make it in to work on time. And she was certainly getting ahead of herself—two kisses, no matter how sweet, did not a fiancé make.

_Easy, Teresa, _she said to herself, taking a deep, calming breath.

"Excuse me, Agent Lisbon," said the mail cart guy, pausing before her since she was blocking the hallway.

"Oh, sorry," she replied in embarrassment. She stepped aside and took the few more steps to her office, shutting the door behind her. In a few hours she would be on a real date with Jane. Dancing. Talking. Maybe even kissing. Lisbon had stalked and even killed many criminals in her time. None of those times could she ever remember being as frightened as she was now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane had been watching for Lisbon's car so that as soon as she pulled into the lot he went to his door. He was wearing a dark suit, pressed white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, but no vest. He'd taken special care with his hair, trying to make it a bit less unruly, even after the trim he'd indulged in that afternoon when he'd skipped out of work. He wanted to make a good impression, which was difficult when you were going out with a woman you'd seen nearly every day for the past four years. He was a little nervous, and his thoughts flew again to his wife.

"You'd like her, Angela," he'd said earlier, pausing to look in the mirror after he'd shaved.

He knew in his heart that this was true; his wife had shared the same kind of stubborn spunkiness that Lisbon had. They would have seen in each other kindred spirits, shared in the mutual exasperation they both experienced in dealing with him.

As he'd studied his reflection, noting the new lines on his face from years of grief and sleepless nights, he had the sudden feeling that Angela wouldn't want him to be unhappy. Oh, he'd justified to himself over the last five years that she was dead and gone for good, that she wasn't out there listening to him or advising him when he spoke to her sometimes. Intellectually, he knew this, but yet, he still kept talking to her as if she were listening. So when he felt peace at the prospect of getting more involved with Lisbon, he couldn't help attributing it at least partly to what he perceived was Angela's blessing from beyond, unlikely as that might be.

His hand went to his heart before he turned the knob to go out and meet Lisbon. He loved Angela—would always love Angela. But here waiting for him was Lisbon, whose kisses made him feel things he hadn't felt since he'd kissed his wife. He felt guilty for wanting her, but at the same time, he couldn't stop thinking about the even stronger feelings Lisbon had set free in him.

"_**I **__like her, Angela,"_ he said to the empty room. _"I like her a lot."_

When his heart jumped with a confident feeling, he grasped the doorknob and went out to meet his date with a welcoming smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I suppose you're still not going to let me drive," Jane said, from the open door of the passenger side.

"Of course not; you drive like a maniac," she said matter-of-factly.

He climbed inside and grinned as he buckled up. "I didn't know you'd been working on mind-reading, Lisbon. You know then, I presume, where we're going?"

He paused to take in her appearance. Her dress was the color of fine merlot, haltered and fitted in the bodice, then flowing to just above her knees. He saw in the faintness of the SUV's interior lights that her shoes matched her dress exactly, with low kitten heals perfect for dancing. His Lisbon had a penchant for stylish evening footwear. Her hair hung straight and smooth to just below her nape, and her lips were dark red. She was beautiful, and he felt pleased she'd obviously wanted to impress him too. He was impressed.

She was giving him the Lisbon glare of impatience, and he knew if she'd been standing she would be tapping her foot, maybe putting her hands on her hips. He grinned as he always did in the face of her irritation.

"You know where Tango is?"

She raised a surprised eyebrow. "Really?"

He nodded. He'd made reservations at a supper club with live music, where they played everything from old standards to current pop ballads. It was known for its highly romantic ambiance, where lovers went for an excuse to actually touch on the dance floor. Lisbon had never been, but she knew first-hand two couples who'd gotten engaged there.

"Well, okay then," she said shakily, and put the car in drive.

"You look amazing, by the way," he said softly, reaching out to touch her bare elbow just below where her black shawl had dropped from around her shoulders. She flushed with pretty color.

"Thank you. Did you get a haircut?" she asked belatedly.

"Only for you, my dear," he said in amusement.

He knew he wasn't usually concerned with appearances, putting off trims until he looked decidedly like a beach bum, and he rarely turned on the complimentary iron in his motel room. He took his suits to the cleaners, but only out of necessity; they'd shrink and lose their shape in the washer. He'd made sure the fashion-conscious egotist of his former life had died along with his wife. Therefore, Lisbon, being the great observer that she was, must fully appreciate his efforts that night.

"Well, you look really b—uh, nice yourself." She'd almost said _beautiful, _and looking at him from the corner of her eye, she wouldn't be far off.

Outside the club, Jane made Lisbon wait in the car while he went around to open the door for her. As she slid off the seat to the ground, her skirt rode up to her shapely thigh, and Jane's eyes widened in appreciation. He'd never seen her legs above the knee before, and Jane had always been a leg man.

"Lisbon," he blurted, "you've been holding out on me. Great gams," he said, deliberately using an old-fashioned sexist term.

"Oh, shut up," she said, taking his helping hand. But she was secretly thrilled he'd liked what he'd seen. He helped her readjust her shawl around her shoulders, then slipped his hand into hers as they walked into the club.

It was dark and romantic as advertised, and the hostess placed them in a candlelit booth near the dance floor. They both ordered steaks, and a crooner began singing an old torch song into the microphone. Alone at their table, Jane searched Lisbon's eyes.

"Dance with me," he repeated his words from his note.

She smiled softly and whispered, "Okay."

Jane took her hand again to lead her to the floor. He gave her a little twirl before pulling her into his arms, and she smiled with delight, slightly dizzy from the brief spinning, along with her heightened awareness of him, of his sensual warmth, of his spicy cologne. She held her breath as Jane's right hand firmly took her left, his left hand settling on her bare lower back. He pulled her close enough that he could indeed feel the pounding of her heart against his own chest. She rested her head on his shoulder and swayed against him to the music.

Jane was immediately suffused with her fragrance—roses and apples and something else distinctly Lisbon. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his hands, her hair like silk against his chin. He hummed the familiar old song under his breath and felt her answering smile as he caressed her, his hand sliding up and down her shapely back as she melted in his arms. It occurred to him that she couldn't possibly be wearing a bra under her dress, and he closed his eyes tightly against that tantalizing idea.

He felt his body heating, his pulse elevating at her nearness, and he couldn't resist pursing his lips against her temple in a kiss that lasted much longer than an affectionate peck. Things were progressing more quickly than he would have expected in such a public venue, and he felt a fine sheen of perspiration form on his forehead. Sensual images overtook his mind for the first time in years, and he envisioned standing behind her, his hot mouth moving over every inch of her straight spine as his hands reached around and—

He cleared his throat slightly and stepped away from her lest she feel just how strongly affected he was by her soft, lithe body undulating gently against him. She looked up at him askance, her eyes wide with slight confusion before he closed the space between them again and kissed her mouth almost savagely. They forgot where they were, that once again they were putting on a public show as their mouths fused together, their tongues tangling, the fire between them so intense he could swear he could smell smoke.

Lisbon made a slight noise from her throat, her hands going to his shoulders to try to extricate herself from his passionate embrace. He moved the attention of his lips to her cheek, then her neck, his hands still busy on her bare back.

"Jane," she managed, over her erratic breathing. "Fire…"

_Yes, _he thought through his sensual haze. _Fire. Heat. Smoke. Smoke?_

At that very instant, a fire alarm tore loudly through the club, and Jane raised his head as the ambiance was ruined by the harsh sounds of warning.

The singer announced that they should all proceed calmly to the nearest exit, that he was certain there wasn't anything to be worried about. The lights went up, nearly blinding the patrons after the dimness of the mood lighting. Jane noted Lisbon's swollen lips and flushed cheeks, wondering if he looked much the same. All around them, the other dancers and diners were either complaining or laughing about the situation, up until the moment the fire sprinklers began pouring down upon them. Then, everyone was yelling in shared protest. The rush to the door was no longer so calm, and Jane reached down to help a lady who had tripped in the crush.

"Thanks!" she yelled over the sounds of screaming and spraying water.

After a quick stop at their table to retrieve her shawl and small purse, Jane and Lisbon moved along with the steady stream of patrons heading toward the front door. Jane had the odd notion that they were like salmon heading up river to spawn, the continued flow of water only adding to the image.

Lisbon felt cold water rolling down her back, felt it flattening her hair and plastering her dress to her body in a way too embarrassing to look down and acknowledge. She held tightly to Jane's wet hand, and when she looked up at him, she saw that his carefully combed hair was dripping down into his face, and he was grinning as mischievously as if he'd been the one to pull the fire alarm. She too was struck with the humor of the situation, and she laughed aloud, her eyes sparkling merrily.

Finally, they were outside, the cold night air hitting their wet bodies. Jane removed his jacket, which was still dry on the inside, draping it over her shoulders as she looked at him in appreciation, but not before she noticed the spark of appreciation in _his_ eyes at what her clinging dress was clearly outlining. In the distance, they heard the sound of an approaching fire engine, but no one was waiting around to see if the place could be saved as they hustled to their vehicles. Black smoke was pouring from the back of the building, a fire likely having started in the kitchen.

"Someone must have felt we needed the hose turned on us," Jane said dryly—the only thing about him that was dry—as they reached the SUV. She blushed anew at how true that statement was. They'd been practically making love on the dance floor.

"Good Lord," she exclaimed in exasperation, allowing him to help her back into the driver's seat. "Are we destined to only have disastrous dates? We've obviously made someone up there very unhappy with us."

She looked at Jane, realizing how what she'd said might be interpreted. She believed in Heaven, believed that loved ones who had passed looked down at them and watched how they lived their lives, maybe even acting as guardian angels. Jane still stood in the open doorway of the driver's side and he met her eyes, his softening at her obvious distress. He took her damp hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

"No one's looking down on us unhappily, Lisbon," he said softly. "On the contrary, if there is anyone looking at us at all, I think they are very happy with what they're seeing. How could they not be?"

He kissed her hand again, then closed the door on her surprised expression.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon's apartment was closer, so they went inside with the idea that they weren't ending their date, only changing the venue. She gave him a towel and a gray sweat suit her brother had left last time he and her niece had visited, before excusing herself to take a quick, hot shower. She'd caught a chill and couldn't stop shivering.

As Jane dried off and changed in Lisbon's bedroom, he looked around curiously. Her bed was made with a simple down comforter covered in a sage green duvet. The bedside table held a functional lamp and alarm clock with not even a book or magazine. This was a space clearly reserved for sleeping only. He could see into her open closet, that it housed her usual uniform of slacks, jeans, unadorned tops and blazer jackets. He smiled at the incongruous row of expensive high heels and sandals on the floor beneath.

On her dresser were pictures of her brothers and their families, along with one of her parents' wedding. He squinted at the early seventies photo, how Lisbon was the spitting image of her mother, how her father seemed happy to be with his new wife. He wondered if they would have liked him, would have thought him too damaged to be with their daughter. Perhaps he was, but he was hooked now, and he didn't see himself giving up on what he and Lisbon could have together, if he didn't screw things up. When Jane wanted something, he knew he was like a dog with a bone. The irony of that simile was not lost on him, and he chuckled as he went into Lisbon's kitchen to make them both a pot of tea.

When he heard the water in the bathroom turn off, he stiffened, imagining Lisbon naked with just a few walls between them, imagined those killer thighs of hers wrapped around him as they moved together beneath that practical comforter in the next room. He could certainly think of more ways to use that bed than just sleeping. Jane promptly scalded his mouth with hot tea. Five years of celibacy was suddenly catching up with him, and if he didn't take it easy, take this thing slowly, he might end up being a huge disappointment to her. He gingerly took another sip from Lisbon's CBI mug.

A/N: Can't these poor kids ever catch a break?

Okay, next chapter is going to veer decidedly into the "M" category, so be warned, lol. And I foresee one, maybe two more chapters left to go in the whole story. Thanks to those who keep reading and reviewing. I love to hear your opinions!

For those who are reading my two-part episode tag for "My Bloody Valentine," I should have part two posted by the end of the week. Looking forward to seeing you there, too!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This is my second chapter update since Wednesday, so if you missed that one, you might want to go back and read ch. 7 first.

Okay, this is definitely an "M-rated" chapter, but for those of you new to my writing, I don't write smut. I try to be tasteful and put emotion, love and even humor into these scenes. Still, if this isn't your cup of tea, I understand, and hope to see you for the next chapter. The rest of you…enjoy with my blessings ;)

**Chapter 8**

They sat on Lisbon's couch, warm ,dry, and comfortably full, the remnants of their Chinese food delivery sitting in boxes on the coffee table.

"I wonder if I'll ever get that steak dinner you owe me," Lisbon said, sipping her beer. He'd forgone her offer of alcohol for a cup of jasmine tea.

"Aw, you were worried someone upstairs doesn't like us? I'm thinking someone up there is trying to save me money. Chinese food costs a hell of a lot less than steak, Lisbon."

She grinned. "Why, Jane, you've never struck me as a glass half full kind of guy."

He feigned shock. "What? My glass is always half full, Lisbon. As a matter of fact, go back to Tango and I bet it's overflowing right now."

They both chuckled at his joke, and as their laughter died, the light remained in their eyes as they looked at each other. The atmosphere in her living room suddenly felt charged with sensual energy. Lisbon took another swig of beer for something to do, then set the bottle shakily down on the table.

She sat back against the couch and turned back to Jane. She studied his face, and Jane tensed, unused to people regarding him as closely and as thoughtfully as he did others. Her green eyes caressed each of his features in turn, starting with his hair. She grinned at how wildly curly it had become, still slightly damp from his dousing; his only attempt at taming it had likely been with his fingers. Almost without thinking, she reached out a hand to touch it. It was soft, like a child's.

"With your hair this way, you look like a naughty little boy," she said in amusement, innocent at first of how that comment might have sounded.

Her gaze dropped to his eyes, which were gleaming at her naughtily, but there was absolutely nothing boyish about the heat she saw there. She cleared her throat and started to pull away, but he caught her hand. Then her eyes rested on his full lips as he brought her fingertips to them, closing his eyes and kissing the end of each delicate digit. Her mouth went dry, and when he opened his eyes again, the fire there rivaled the one that had driven them out of Tango.

"Jane," she said breathlessly, and he pulled her inexorably closer until she was sitting sideways on his lap.

Jane said nothing, found that he couldn't find his voice around his shallow breaths and pounding heart. All he knew was that he wanted her, and he never thought he would feel this way again, never thought he would _want_ to feel this way again. He was nervous and just this side of terrified, but he was also feeling lightheaded with desire. He felt like a tightly coiled spring, that if he allowed himself to release his pent-up emotions, he might not be able to stop. But because Jane was so used to torturing himself, he decided to see how far his self-control could be tested.

He knew she could feel how much he wanted her, but he did nothing about it. When she adjusted her behind against him, however, he couldn't help the small half-gasp, half-moan that escaped him. Lisbon's eyes grew dark with answering need, and for the first time, she took the reins. With just that look alone, Jane came to the immediate hypothesis that this little experiment of his could only have one possible conclusion.

Her lips were moist and hot, tangy with the vestiges of Corona, and he forced himself to remain still as she teased his lips with hers, kissing him lightly, tentatively. Her hands came up to rest on either of his cheeks as she kissed his top lip, then his bottom, suckling it lightly between her lips. It was all he could do not to moan aloud. Her small pink tongue snaked out to glide across the seal of his lips and he opened to her, letting her inside with a sound of welcome from deep within his throat.

He couldn't sit still anymore, so he allowed himself to give in, becoming a fully active participant in her seduction. His hands slid up her arms, then around her t-shirt clad back, gathering her closer as their kiss deepened. As kiss led to kiss, he slowly lowered her upper body to the couch, not breaking contact with her mouth as they both turned their bodies so that he was on top of her.

Lisbon had never felt so desired, never had a man take such care with her. He was at once tentative and seductive, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, nuzzling there, touching her sensitive skin with his tongue. She shivered, felt his hand slip underneath her t-shirt, caressing her taut stomach, then moving up to cup one breast. Her eyes flew open and met questioning blue-green flames.

"Don't stop," she breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I don't know if I can," he said, the simple truth of his words bringing back a glow of faint humor to his eyes. He kissed her lightly on the lips, then watched her face as he found the front clasp of her bra. At the same time, she undulated her hips against his hardness, amusement coming to her own eyes as he paused to struggle for control.

"Any more moves like that, woman, and this will be over before it begins. Five years is a hell of a long time…"

Lisbon's eyes widened. "Five years?" she gasped, while his hands began to caress her bare breasts, thumbs circling their tight peaks. She'd had an inkling over the years that he was celibate, but to have him admit it, to know that she was the first woman since his wife, felt like she'd been honored with a precious gift. She felt a little like a man with his virgin bride, and she suddenly wanted to slow things down, to savor, to be gentle with him.

Her hands came up to still his, even though they were doing such heavenly things to her breasts. "We don't have to do this," she said. "we can take this slow…"

But he was ignoring her, pushing her t-shirt up, nudging her hands out of the way, lowering his seeking mouth to take one hard bud between his teeth. Her back bowed as he laved her with his tongue, his other hand continuing his sensual assault.

"Jane," she tried again, even while her hands delved into his hair, guiding and following his movements. "If you're not ready for this, we—"

He abruptly released her breast and raised his head in mock annoyance. "Are you going to want to carry on a conversation during this whole thing, Lisbon, because it's really difficult to talk with my mouth full. Not to mention terribly impolite."

She looked at him—_really_ looked. He didn't seem conflicted or unsure of himself. He looked in fact like a man on a mission, and it would seem that she was getting in the way. She smiled a little and his eyes smiled back, reassuring her that he was, in fact, okay.

"Please proceed," she said, nodding to him politely.

He grinned then, kissed her quickly on the mouth, then went back to his work.

The living room soon became filled with sighs and soft cries—mostly hers—and moans and gasps—mostly his—while clothing steadily piled up on the floor beside the couch. While Lisbon lay beneath him, clad only in panties, and he upon her, sweatpants alone still intact, Jane came to the realization that the couch would just not be wide or comfortable enough to do with her what he'd fantasized about doing. And so it was with some surprise that Lisbon found herself being hoisted easily into his surprisingly strong arms.

"Bed," he grunted succinctly, in the interest of limited conversation. She nodded faintly, and Jane carried her on wobbly legs to her bedroom.

He set her gently on the edge of the bed, but before he could push her back down and continue his way with her, she grabbed him by the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled him closer. She looked up into his eyes, noted his labored breathing, and began to roll the thick cotton over his hipbones. He reached a hand to her shoulder to steady himself, but allowed her to divest him of his final article of clothing. She was surprised to see he wore no underwear, and with his typical perception, he looked at her sheepishly.

"They were wet," he explained. She shrugged, unconcerned, and Jane suddenly discovered the wonder of having Lisbon's mouth and hands wrapped around him.

"Teresa," he said on another moan, his vision going slightly black. "You really don't have to do this. I'm more than ready to—"

She abruptly lifted her head in true annoyance. "Are you going to want to carry on a conversation through this Jane, because it's very hard to talk with—"

"I'm shutting up," he said, and she went back to work.

After exactly one minute of her loving ministrations, however, he was begging her to stop. A recently celibate man could only take so much. She understood the precarious position he was in, for she was rapidly approaching that same precipice, and she hadn't even taken off her panties. He quickly took care of that last impediment, tossing her black bikinis somewhere behind them, pushing her almost roughly to the bed, his mouth following his hands to the pulsing junction of her trembling thighs.

His first intimate taste of her nearly sent both of them over the edge, but he continued their mutual torture by a pair of deep licks, followed by a few well-placed flicks. "Jesus…Jane!" she hissed, then moaned when he repeated the process. She began to see flashes of light and swirling colors behind her tightly closed lids, just like she'd read in every romance novel she'd ever hidden from her brothers between her mattress. He seemed to innately know just how to touch her, how to make her squirm and shake with pleasure.

_No such thing as psychics? _ She thought dazedly. _Bah._

He didn't stop until she was yelling his name, having come undone beneath his mouth in what for her was surely record time. And still he didn't pause, for he kissed his way up her stomach to her navel, encircled it lovingly with his tongue, then continued upward, taking a brief second to kiss each breast. The moment his mouth took hers again, he dipped his hips and plunged inside her body. It was the single most beautiful moment of Lisbon's life.

Jane stilled a moment, nearly vanquished by the incredible tightness surrounding him. The perspiration gathered on his brow and torso as he willed himself to slow down a little, lest he hyperventilate or totally embarrass himself by only lasting one more thrust. He reached within him for the strength to calm himself, then opened his eyes and found himself drowning in twin pools of green.

Lisbon smiled at him encouragingly, lifting her hips to meet him. His tenuous control vacated him almost completely, and he allowed himself to let go, taking her over and over for much longer than he'd predicted he could, but for far less than he would have wanted for them both. He cried out his release, and Lisbon watched his face, beautifully contorted in ecstasy as he rode wave after tremulous wave. She pulled him down closer to wrap her arms around him as he panted into her neck.

Her hands glided over his sweat-slicked back, and he shivered at her touch, his breathing still harsh in her ear. He was heavy upon her, but it was a good heaviness; she felt cherished and well loved and safe. Besides, she was pretty sure he couldn't move even if she wanted him to. She kissed his damp temple affectionately, felt him smile lazily against her cheek.

"May I talk now, Lisbon," he asked, when he was calm enough to form a coherent thought.

"If you feel the need…not that you've ever asked my permission before…"

He chuckled, and the sound reverberated through their bodies. Lisbon knew that from that moment on, his soft, sexy laughter would forever remind her of this moment.

"That was…incredible. _You're_ incredible. Thank you, Lisbon."

She smiled, her hand now playing with the curls at the back of his neck. "You're welcome, Jane," she replied in amusement. She couldn't resist asking him one important question: "Was it worth the wait?"

She felt him tense, realizing the significance of her query. He lifted his head to look at her blankly, then rolled off her body to lay beside her with a heavy sigh. She felt instantly bereft and cold, but he pulled her body close to his side, his left arm draping around her shoulders. She turned toward him to tangle her smooth legs with his lightly furred ones.

"You don't have to answer that," she said, as the seconds ticked by with no reply. "If you're having regrets, I understand." A few more moments passed, and she thought she might be losing him to sleep.

"It used to be," he began tentatively, "that I had no desire to be with anyone else but my wife, and since I couldn't have her, I told myself I didn't need anyone. Then I told myself I didn't deserve to have anyone else anyway, didn't deserve one iota of happiness because of what I'd done. It was yet another way to punish myself."

"Along with living in dive motels, never buying new clothes or shoes, skimping on haircuts and cars…" she added, finally putting into words the thoughts she'd had about him since the day they'd met.

"Yes," he said simply. "And then I wrote you that poem."

She moved so she could see his face in the dim light spilling in from the hallway, her arms folded on his hairless chest. She rested her chin there, her eyes boring deeply into his.

"And…?" she prompted.

He smiled a little at her beloved tenacity. "_And_…it finally gelled in my mind how important you are to my life, how you've been there for me, _with _me, for what has passed for my existence these past four years. You've been my rock, Lisbon, my kick in the ass or even punch in the nose when I needed it. You are the only one whose opinion means a lick to me in this godforsaken world, even though I know it must seem to you that I don't always listen. But I—I don't think I could have held out this long without you," he ended with a whisper.

She slid upward to find his mouth with hers, pouring into that kiss all the things she truly longed to say, but knew he was not ready to hear. He must have felt some of what she'd intended, for he was suddenly hungry for her again, relieved that he could express a fraction of what he too had been feeling. Her soft hair tickled his cheeks, and he brushed it gently behind her ears, thoroughly enjoying having her body atop his. He suddenly gripped her waist, lifted her slightly, then lowered her body slowly back down on his. She gasped in surprise that he was so ready so soon, and she took him inside of her, sitting all the way back with a whimper, while his hands reached up for her breasts again.

A while later, Lisbon collapsed on top of him, shaken to her very core by their shared passion.

"Seriously?" she said in disbelief, her head still spinning

She felt his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Like I said, Lisbon, five years is a hell of a long time."

"But was it worth the wait?" she asked again, having never received a direct answer earlier. She knew in her heart, felt it in his body, that the answer would be yes, but there was still an insecure part of her that needed him to say the word.

She took a swipe at his flat nipple with her tongue, and he shuttered in a heady mixture of new and delayed reactions.

"Give me about ten more minutes and I'll be able to tell you definitively. You know me; I hate to give an opinion until I'm absolutely sure of it. You can't rush these things, you know."

She looked up at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "In ten minutes, though? No way." For one thing, she was close to exhaustion herself.

"My dear Lisbon, haven't you learned not to doubt me by now?"

"I don't doubt you, per say, Jane, but even you can't defeat basic male physiology."

Before she'd even finished her sentence, he'd rolled her onto her back. She gave a little cry of surprise.

"Aw, Lisbon," he murmured, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Let me introduce you to the wonders of biofeedback…"

A/N: I hoped you liked that. You know what I'd like? More reviews, of course! Thanks for reading! One more chapter to go…


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry I didn't get another chapter up earlier in the week, but a family crisis got in the way. At any rate, I hope I can make it up to you with the news that I need one additional chapter to finish this story properly. I hope you don't mind.

I should warn you that there's some more "M" stuff toward the end. Now, the morning after…

**Chapter 9**

"Teresa," Jane whispered into Lisbon's ear. She lay on her stomach, face in the pillow, having slept quite through her alarm. "We're going to be late for work, Sleeping Beauty."

"Mmmmmm," she growled.

"I remembered you weren't a morning person," he grinned, "so I made you this." He brought the steaming coffee cup he held down closer to her face where not even the pillow could hide the reviving aroma.

"Mmmm?" She turned her head an inhaled with a lazy smile. "Have I ever told you that sometimes you can be quite the nice man?"

"Not quite in so many words, well, unless _Oh God_, or _Don't stop_ mean the

same-"

"Shut up," she muttered in acute embarrassment, burying her face in the pillow again.

He chuckled softly, sexily, and Lisbon felt her heart contract at the sound, memories of the night before flooding her mind with happiness. She felt him move her hair aside and press his lips to the back of her neck. She shivered.

"Here, Miss Grumpy Pants, drink some coffee."

He set down the mug by her bed and helped her sit up, propping the pillow behind her. His eyes devoured her when the sheet slipped to expose one well-loved breast, and she hastily pulled the bedding up to her chin. His eyes darkened at his own memories. Sitting on the bed beside her, he put the warm mug in her hand. She met his eyes, smiled, and inhaled gratefully before taking a sip.

"Too strong?" he asked, but he could tell by her euphoric expression that it was perfect.

"Just right. Thank you." She reached one hand over to hold his, and a wave of pure feeling passed between them, unidentified, but strong nonetheless.

"I didn't hear my alarm," she said, squinting at the alarm clock. She nearly spilled her coffee when she saw the time. "Dammit, Jane! We're gonna be at least an hour late!"

"Meh, so what. You deserve an extra hour after all I put you through last night." He was obviously not talking about their dance beneath the fire sprinklers.

Her blush heightened again as she looked at him, realizing he had already taken a shower, his hair now brushed neatly (she would find blonde hair in her hairbrush later) smelling of her soap. He was clad in the borrowed sweat suit, and his eyes looked bright and clear and infinitely happy. It was an expression she had never seen before. Naturally, her reaction to that was to tease and cajole.

"You know," she said between sips, "you didn't have to make up for five dry years in one night. I'm pretty sure I'm going to walk with a noticeable limp."

His smile turned wicked-another expression she hadn't seen, at least not in this context. "Oh, but that was maybe…six months' worth, tops, leaving me four and a half years and odd days still to catch up."

They smiled at each other while she finished her coffee, then suddenly Jane was hastening her along. "You realize you have to take me by my place to change. While sweats are wonderfully comfortable, going commando all day isn't."

Lisbon nearly choked on her last gulp of coffee. "Not to mention how terribly distracting it would be for me knowing _that_ little secret," she said wryly. He grinned and placed her empty mug on the bedside table.

"Well, okay then, Lisbon, chop, chop."

He reached for both of her hands to pull her out of bed, but she surprised him, pulling him back down on top of her, using her best take-down-a-suspect-cop- moves to flip him over and pin him to the bed. He laughed against her mouth, then a moment later, when her hands slipped inside his sweatpants, he moaned.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's up with the boss and Jane?" Rigsby asked Cho and Van Pelt. He'd just returned to the bullpen from the break room, where he'd seen the two people in question shooting each other heavy looks as they each made coffee and tea, respectively. "I mean, first they're nearly three hours late, then they come in all smiles. It's weird."

"They're sleeping together," ventured Cho.

"What?" Rigsby and Van Pelt said at once.

"I can't believe the boss would blatantly break the rules like that," Rigsby commented, envy lacing his tone.

Cho shrugged.

"It's not against the rules," Grace informed them. "Not for those two, anyway. He's not a member of the team; he's a _consultant_ to the team. Check the manual; it's a nice little loophole for them."

She tried not to sound bitter, recalling her recent embarrassment with Jane, not to mention the fact that even if she were ready to pursue a relationship with Rigsby, it would be forbidden. Rigsby caught her eye and blushed, obviously having similarly morose thoughts.

The trio looked up to see Jane and Lisbon parting ways at the bullpen entrance, Jane heading to his couch, steaming teacup and matching saucer in hand, Lisbon off to her office with her mug and a bear claw. Both wore enigmatic smiles on their faces.

"Why so glum on such a beautiful morning?" Jane asked the room at large, bringing his cup to his lips.

"Not all of us got to sleep in so late this morning," Rigsby said pettily.

"I wasn't sleeping," Jane replied evenly, but his eyes were lit with laughter. His colleagues looked at each other in shared confirmation. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "my tires came in early for the Citroen, so Lisbon took me by the mechanic's to pick up my car. Look out in the parking lot if you don't believe me." He inclined his head toward the windows. No one moved to look. He wasn't about to tell them that that little side-trip had only taken them an extra fifteen minutes. He grinned between sips of earl grey.

Jane knew that the CBI's finest investigators had likely figured out his and Lisbon's secret, but he wasn't sure Lisbon would want the fact that he was sleeping with the boss to be made public knowledge yet. Besides, a secret lover could be very exciting, he thought, imagining stolen kisses in her office, assignations in the stairwell, trysts in the interrogation room. His body grew warm just thinking about it. He glanced longingly toward Lisbon's office window, wanting nothing more than to rush in there and test his theory. But she'd warned him before they left her apartment that there would be no hanky panky (her words) in the office. Jane wasn't discouraged; he knew a few things about the art of persuasion.

Before he'd even had a chance to finish his tea, however, Lisbon appeared in the bullpen doorway, a slip of paper in her hand and a serious expression on her face.

"We're up, guys," she announced. "Three dead in Solano County on state property. I'll fill you in on the way."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was probably a good thing they'd gotten a case, thought Lisbon at the end of the day. It had kept her mind occupied (for the most part) on something other than the way it had felt to be in Jane's arms. As it was, she was pleased he'd been on his best behavior-well, as far as their budding relationship was concerned.

Naturally, he'd managed to insult and cajole enough witnesses and victims' family members to add another lawsuit to the stack, but at least he'd been occupied himself enough that he'd only looked at her inappropriately a few times. She hadn't thought anyone had seen him, and she'd tried to tamp down her blushes and her racing pulse as much as she could, but damn, the man was sexy, and he had a way of looking at her that took her right back to the bedroom. All the warning glances she'd shot back at him had only made him grin. The man was infuriating.

They'd narrowed the suspect list down to two, and Jane and Cho had tag teamed the interrogations in the Solano County sheriff's office, but by that evening, they'd hit a roadblock, and after a fruitless return to the scene of the crime on Jane's hunch, Lisbon had sent her tired team to their motel rooms for a few hours' sleep.

She watched the black SUV crunch its way down the gravel road leading out of the Suisun Marsh. Jane had driven his Citroen that morning,"To check how the new tires run," he'd said, but she knew he didn't like riding in the cramped SUV when the entire team was packed inside.

Lisbon had had a few more questions for the Fish and Game warden, so she'd stayed behind with Jane, who would give her a lift to the motel in Suisun City. After a few moments, she said good-bye to the warden and sighed as his green SUV followed the CBI vehicle into the darkness. Lisbon realized with a start that she and Jane were alone.

It was quiet in the marsh, except for the sounds of hooting owls, croaking frogs, and chirping crickets, far away from the distant noise of cars on the freeway. The moon was full in the sky, and the scent of eucalyptus and briny water hung in the breeze. Jane reached in and killed the headlights of the Citroen, leaving them with only the light from the moon. She froze where she stood as she watched him move purposefully around to the front of the car to stand before her. Her heart picked up speed as he pulled her willing body into his arms, his mouth fastening on hers. His hands found her ponytail and he pulled out the elastic band freeing her silky hair to his greedy fingers. After a few torrid moments, they moved slightly apart for air.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he whispered, his warm breath fanning her cheeks.

"Me too," she admitted shyly, and his answering smile shone brightly in the moonlight.

"Shall we go back to your motel room," he asked politely, as if offering to join her for tea. His hands slipped inside her CBI windbreaker to run suggestively up and down her t-shirt clad ribs. She shook her head.

"Jane, we're on a case. I think it would be totally unprofessional for us to—well, you know—use our motel rooms for anything other than sleeping and business. You've about gotten this case solved anyway. We'll be home before you know it and—"

Her words were cut off by his impatient lips, and she allowed him to back her against the Citroen, lifting her up so that she was sitting on the low-slung hood of his car. He stood between her thighs, increasing his sensual attention. Things began to get out of control very quickly, and when his hands began deftly unhooking her bra, she reached up to still his frantic movements.

"Jane…we can't do this outside in the middle of a state wildlife area…" she said breathlessly.

He chuckled at the absurdity of her words. "This meets your high standards of professional behavior, Lisbon," he countered, his lips finding her neck while his hands cupped her breasts beneath her shirt. "We're not in the motel room. We're not in the office. We're out here in the wild the way nature intended…"

She gasped as his fingers found her nipples, and her hands clutched his forearms reflexively. "But what if—" she began, and he stopped his impassioned movements to look at her. He pressed his mouth briefly to her trembling lips.

"Hush, woman, and stop over-thinking this. Besides, this is all your fault anyway, you know."

"What?" she protested indignantly.

"That's right. You've been taunting me in those tight jeans of yours all day. I think I've held myself in check quite well, considering, and if you're so opposed to doing things right in a decent bed back in your motel room, the least you could do is compromise a little."

"Compromise? Getting it on on top of your car is not exactly a fair trade. It's chilly out here, and uncomfortable, and…can't you wait until we're home?"

"No," he said firmly. "I don't believe I can." One hand slipped out of her grip and moved to the snap of those offending jeans of hers. But despite his commanding tone, his eyes shone with humor and passion, and Lisbon felt herself giving in to his persuasive words, his tempting hands.

"But I didn't bring anything—" she tried, playing her last card. After their first time the night before, she'd had a momentary feeling of panic that they hadn't used protection, but she'd directed him in mild embarrassment to the box of condoms in her bedside drawer. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow.

Jane reached into his jacket pocket now and brought forth a small, familiar packet. He waved it before her triumphantly. She didn't know whether to be angry at his assumption or pleased with his forethought. She settled on amusement.

"Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?"

"Nope," he said simply, and slowly lowered her zipper, eyes boring into hers. He watched her as he eased his hands inside her jeans, his fingers finding her panties, then sliding beneath them. She lifted her hips a little to allow him better access, and he found her heated softness, circling there while she panted and gasped. One long finger slipped inside her, then two, and he kissed her again before lowering her body gently until she lay back on the hood of his car. His hands continued working her body until she cried out into the night.

Jane wasted little more time, his pants feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly constrictive. While she lay before him in a daze, he pulled off her boots, then pulled down her jeans and underwear, letting them fall where they may on the gravel at his feet. Lisbon was too boneless to help him, but she shivered as the cold blue metal made direct contact with her bare behind.

Mindful of the cold and of his aching need, Jane's hands made quick work of his own pants, and he pulled her upright again, sliding her closer until she was sitting again at the front end of the car, thighs opened invitingly. He fumbled with the foil packet, then grabbed her hips almost roughly, entering her body with one smooth stroke. Her stocking feet rested on either side of the bumper, her hands propping her body up behind her on the hood as he glided in and out. They both moaned at each deep thrust.

Lisbon was taken to a plane of pure sensation, and she felt nearly overcome by it. It seemed like he was everywhere. His shallow breaths filling the air, his hands at her hips, warm in spite of the cold, and of course, he was inside of her, filling her completely. It was a connection unlike she'd ever felt before, and she felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Emotions bubbled up from somewhere in the region of her heart, and as his movements began to reach a crescendo, she felt three words, long dormant, rise unbidden to her lips.

He froze a moment, his eyes flying open to meet hers, which were wide with her own shock. But Jane was way past the point of no return, so, with two more powerful pushes, he growled out his release. He leaned forward, trembling, hands resting on either side of her body on the cold metal of the hood, as he tried to reengage his brain. Had she truly said what he'd thought she'd said?

"Teresa?" he whispered, when he could speak. She lay quietly drained, her back flat on the hood of his car, eyes staring blearily up at the stars.

He withdrew from her body and pulled up his pants, then, still shaking, fished around for her belongings on the ground. He stood and looked at her, naked from the waist down, her t-shirt pulled up to her neck, her bra askew, her breasts alabaster in the moonlight. He could barely believe what he'd just done with her, fulfilling all kinds of masculine fantasies about taking a woman on a car. But her words had had the power of a sledgehammer to his stomach, and he found that he was reacting now more to what she'd admitted than to their passionate encounter.

"Teresa?" he said again, covering her with her jeans.

She sat up, found her panties, numbly separating them from her pants. She awkwardly put both articles of clothing on before willing her trembling fingers to put her bra and shirt to rights. He handed her her boots and she put them on again, re-fastening the side zippers before sliding down the car to her feet. She ignored his helping hand.

"We'd better get back to the motel," she muttered, heading for the passenger's side.

"Lisbon—"

She stopped abruptly and turned back toward where he stood, shirttails hanging out of his slacks, vest half-unbuttoned, hair a riotous mop. He looked adorably disheveled and beautiful, and she'd meant what she'd told him with all of her pounding heart.

"Look, you don't have to say anything," she told him gruffly. "It was the heat of the moment. Forget about it."

"You don't expect me to—"

"I don't expect _anything_, Jane. Now, let's go. I've caught a chill."

It was a quiet drive back into town.

A/N: Yep, Lisbon said the L-word. There will certainly be some fall-out from that. And yes, the next definitely will be the last chapter—I wasn't trying to tease you before, I promise, lol.

Thanks for reading this, and for all your wonderful comments. You guys are the best!

Oh, and in case you missed it with the inundation of new stories posted over the last couple of days, I did post a tag for last week's episode. I'd love it if you took a moment to read it!


	10. Conclusion

A/N: Well, I've come to the end of another story. It feels good to have written such light-hearted romance. It's a nice world to be in after all the angst on the show lately. I hope you like how this ends. I must warn you, it is mushy and fluffy and heavy on the romance. Still here? I guess you must like that stuff as much as I do…

**Chapter 10: Conclusion**

Jane stood beneath the spray of the shower in his motel room, lost in thought. He would never be able to feel water on his face without thinking of his second date with Lisbon, the surprise of the fire sprinklers dousing them after the heat they'd shared on the dance floor. And later that night…was it just last night that he'd first made love to her? He shook his head in disbelief, leaning his head back against the cool, wet tile.

And now, for the first time in five years, a woman had said she loved him. It was a wondrous thing, beautiful and incredible and terrifying. He'd been shocked, and that rarely happened with Patrick Jane. But now, alone with his thoughts, he realized that what she had told him shouldn't be too surprising. One could not spend nearly every day with someone, joking, teasing, bickering, sharing secrets, without certain feelings developing, and for Lisbon it seemed that those feelings had turned amorous somewhere along the way.

_She loves me, _he thought, feeling the thrill of her words now that the shock had worn off.

He smiled to himself, reveling in the notion that this woman, the strongest person he had ever known, could love _him_, the weakest person he could think of. He sobered a little, his old belief that he didn't deserve to be happy returning with a rush. Could he do this? Was he really free from his past to accept what she had offered?

"What do you think, Angela?" he asked his dead wife, invoking her name for the second time in a week. "I loved you, and look what that cost _you_." _Or maybe…it was because I loved myself more, _he added silently, closing his eyes as the water began to feel cool on his skin.

But Jane knew in his heart that he wasn't that man anymore, that if he ever found love again, he would do so many things differently. He would no longer be concerned with making money, with conning people for personal gain. His priorities would shift dramatically. He would savor every moment with her, not waste one second of his second chance.

He turned off the shower and stepped out onto the mat on the uninspired tile floor, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it tightly about his waist. He took another and rubbed it over his sopping hair, then wiped the steam from the mirror. He met his own eyes, watching himself as he thought of Lisbon, of earlier, when his body had been joined with hers. He noted the telltale dilation of his pupils, the slight flush that appeared that went beyond the heat of the shower. And then he saw it. It was there, all right, in the slight smile hovering about his lips, in the dreamy expression reflected in his sea green eyes. He was looking at a man in love.

It was physical confirmation of what he had begun to suspect, evidence that Jane needed to be certain that what he was feeling was real.

"I love her," he said in wonder, testing the words on his tongue. "Holy shit." He watched the man in the mirror grin almost shyly back.

_She doesn't know how I feel, _he thought suddenly, his heart accelerating. _She thinks her confession upset me, that I didn't return her feelings. She was embarrassed, insecure. _

He threw down his towels and opened the bathroom door, going to his overnight bag to fish out clean boxers and his pajamas. He dressed quickly, not bothering to button up the pajama top, then walked to the bedside table. Inside the single drawer, beneath the thick phone book, he uncovered a folder containing two sheets of stationary, the motel chain's logo and address emblazoned on the heading. A matching envelope and pen lay at the ready. It wasn't expensive vellum, he thought in amusement, but it would have to do.

He sat at the small desk and began to write. He wrote everything he longed to say to her, not taking the time to perfect either his penmanship or his prose.

He could have called her, or even gone to her room, but he knew she was too afraid to talk to him at the moment, too abashed by her unplanned admission to open up to him now. He would have gotten the royal brush-off, and Jane would have felt like a brute if he'd pressed her, and he was too impatient to wait until morning. So, the letter.

He could imagine Lisbon now, five doors down, probably neck deep in hot water—literally; she tended to take long baths when she was upset. She would have seriously debated drinking the small bottle of wine from the mini bar, but would have been too worried how it would look on the bill when it was sent to CBI Accounting, even if she'd reimbursed them. So she'd likely settled on the cheap herbal tea that had come gratis in the room to calm herself and help her sleep. He paused a moment, pen poised, the erotic image of Lisbon naked in her bath momentarily capturing all his attention. He had to physically shake himself so he could continue with the work at hand.

Within thirty minutes, he'd filled both pages—front and back—and he paused as he decided the best way to end his impassioned missive.

..._and so, Sweetheart, all that is left to say are three simple words, but these are words one should say for the first time in person. Come to me when you're ready to hear them._

_Jane_

He finished his signature with a flourish, took a few minutes to re-read the letter, nodded in satisfaction, and sealed it inside the envelope. He went to the door to his room and peaked out into the corridor. It was quiet, so he propped open his door and padded barefoot to Lisbon's room. Taking a deep breath, he slid it under her door and stole like a thief back down the hall. Mission accomplished, he sat on his bed to wait, heart pounding with anticipation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, Lisbon got her fourth letter from Jane.

She emerged from her bath, skin red from the heat. She sipped the tea she'd left on the closed toilet, praying that it would seep into her brain to settle her thoughts enough that she could sleep. She made a face at the bitter aftertaste. The bath had relaxed her, but had given her too much time to think, too much time to keep reliving the mortification of confessing her love to a man who likely didn't return her feelings. Sure, the sex was fantastic—the best she'd ever had—but that didn't mean Jane was feeling the same way beyond the novelty of breaking his five-year celibacy.

She wasn't used to losing control like that, but she'd been caught up in the emotion of their joining, the epiphany of her love as overwhelming as the connection of their bodies. Her words had had to find release just as surely as she couldn't control the intense climaxes he'd brought her to. How could they ever go back now, now that the cork was out of the bottle, the cat out of the bag, the bell rung? She might have ruined everything, frightened him away. And it hurt her to her very soul to even think about losing him now.

She wiped her eyes on the edge of her towel, then wrapped it around her body. She threw herself down on the queen bed, staring up at the white sparkling ceiling, her position reminding her of how not two hours before she'd been prone on the hood of Jane's car, staring up at the stars, realizing that she'd likely made a colossal blunder. They'd driven back to the motel in silence, and he'd walked her to her door like the gentleman he was, even though they both knew she could kick the ass of anyone trying to accost her.

"Are you okay?" he'd asked tentatively to her back as she unlocked her door with the key card. She'd only trusted herself with a nod before closing the door between them. She'd prayed ever since that he wouldn't call, wouldn't knock, would leave her to deal with her misery in peace, without that look of pity that would surely tinge his eyes and voice when he spoke to her.

"_You don't expect me to—"_

He'd begun that phrase in the light of the moon. She'd cut him off before he could finish that sentence with a million possible endings, none of them good, in her estimation.

"—_return your feelings."_

"—_make any promises."_

"—_be over my wife."_

Her throat contracted and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

_Lord help me._

She lay on the bed until she became cold and she'd once again run out of tears. But Teresa Lisbon was, above all things, resilient.

"That's enough, Teresa," she said sternly to herself. "This doesn't have to be a deal breaker. I can just pick up where we left off if he can." She got to her feet, continuing her personal pep talk. She began to pace from the bathroom to the bed, holding her towel above her breasts, trying to convince herself that things could work out, that all was not lost over a few ill-timed words.

Then something caught her eye on the floor near the door. She figured it must be the motel bill, but those were usually slipped beneath the door early in the morning. Curiously, she walked over to the envelope, gasping a little when she saw her name in very familiar handwriting. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, she picked up the letter and stared at it a moment.

Was this the brush off she'd expected? Was he letting her down easily, in a letter? She sat heavily on the bed, afraid to open it.

"Maybe it's more poetry," she said aloud. "_Ode to Lisbon's Big Mouth_." She laughed humorlessly at her sarcasm. With a deep sigh, she opened the envelope.

_My Dear Lisbon,_

_If we are to go on from here, I think I should tell you a few things, and it's always best to start from the beginning, am I right? (That was a rhetorical question, Teresa; of course I am right.) I remember vividly the day we met…_

He'd continued for two pages, detailing how his feelings had grown and deepened over the years. He described little moments, some that she remembered, some that she'd forgotten, times when she'd been a comfort to him, had made him laugh, had made him see that maybe there was a life outside of his quest for vengeance. He'd tamped down those frightening emotions, however, feeling he was betraying his wife and child, betraying his vow to focus on finding their murderer. But Lisbon had gotten to him despite his valiant efforts to prevent it, had slid under his defenses, had made him dependent upon her. And then, a few days ago, he'd come to a place where he couldn't—didn't want to-deny what he was feeling any longer.

In many ways his letter was like reading Lisbon's own evolution of feeling. Denial, more denial, then, ultimately, acceptance. His words were eloquent and true, his writing voice sounding just like he was sitting next to her, saying these beautiful things in her presence. Tears sprang to her eyes as she reached the last paragraph.

_He's waiting to say he loves me, _she thought excitedly, lowering the papers to her lap. All at once, Lisbon's fears flew out the window, and she rushed to her overnight bag, pulling out panties and her brother's old football jersey that she used as a night shirt. Tossing the towel aside, she grabbed her key card and rushed out of the door, heedless of her state of undress. Jane wanted her. Loved her. She wasn't about to keep them both waiting any longer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_She had to have read the letter by now, _thought Jane anxiously. He'd seen that her light had been on beneath the door when he'd delivered it, so she hadn't been asleep.

He had been waiting an hour, had flipped through the channels on the television a hundred times at least, but found nothing remotely interesting. He'd paced, he'd made himself tea, had raided the mini bar for snacks, remembering that he hadn't eaten, that the rest of the team had spoken about a Mexican food restaurant down the street from their motel. But he couldn't eat. Nothing seemed to soothe his impatience, and he began doing something he rarely did—second guessing himself.

Maybe she hadn't really meant her confession, regretted saying it for reasons more than because she was embarrassed or worried that he didn't return her feelings. It really could have been a heat-of-the- moment thing, something lovers say when caught up in their passion. His eyes went to the nightstand, where his golden wedding band caught the light of the bedside lamp. His ring finger felt bare, and he had the feeling it would be a long time before he became used to the feeling, but it was a necessary step if he was truly going to move on with Lisbon.

"The hell with this waiting crap," he growled to himself. "I'm going to drive myself crazy if I don't have an answer now, one way or another." Jane abruptly stopped his pacing and went to the door, buttoning his pajama top while he peaked through the peephole. There was no one in the hallway. He sighed, making a decision.

He pocketed his key card and let himself out of his room. He'd covered half the distance to Lisbon's room when the lady in question stepped out of the door and stopped short in the brightly lit corridor. Her eyes blinked owlishly at him.

With two long strides he reached her, determinedly pulling her into his arms and kissing her until she was wrapping her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to meet his mouth with a moan.

"Teresa," he breathed, pulling slightly away from her intoxicating lips. "Look at me."

She did, her green eyes shining with anticipation.

"I'm in love with you," he told her, feeling his heart knocking against his chest.

"That's five," she said, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

"What?" he replied on a confused laugh.

"Leave it to you to take things two steps too far. You said you had three words for me, but there you go, adding two more to it." She twisted a curl at his nape around her small finger.

"Lisbon, you're always going to get more than you bargained for with me."

"I know, and as scary as that may be…it's one of the things I love most about you."

They smiled at each other, and Jane laced his fingers with hers, holding up their entwined hands happily. It was then that Lisbon, extremely observant in her own right, noticed the bare, white skin around the third finger of his left hand. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"Yes, but I won't lie to you, Teresa. This may not always be easy. Or smooth."

"Things seldom are with you," she said. "Another thing I love about you."

His lips quirked at the corners. "At the risk of sounding vain Lisbon, exactly how many things _do _you love about me?"

She looked back at him solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling. "Would you like me to enumerate them, or list them in alphabetical order?"

"That's okay. Just tell them to me as they come up."

He thrust his hips forward so she could feel his double entendre. Lisbon let out a surprised bark of laughter, and realized then that as they'd been speaking, he'd been slowly backing her toward his room. She looked wryly up at him, and he only grinned, continuing to propel her on her backward journey.

"Don't think, Patrick Jane, that you can beguile me into your bed any old time you please. I have a mind of my own, you know."

"I know, Lisbon. That's one of the enumerable things I love about _you_."

When he had her back against his door, his mouth came down upon hers again, his hands dropping to her waist, then lower, pulling her pelvis closer as their kisses deepened. He dazedly felt her hands reaching into his pajama bottom pockets, searching rather sensuously for his key card. He shifted to allow her better access, then his breath caught as her hands brushed intimately against him. His own laughter was smothered by her lips, and he took the key to slide it on the door and gain entry, his mouth never leaving hers. She nearly stumbled as the door opened behind her, but he caught her deftly, catching her in his arms before she could fall, the door shutting with a soft click behind them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Five minutes earlier…**_

Van Pelt rounded the final corner of the mazelike corridor of the motel, stopping so unexpectedly that the two men behind her nearly crashed into her back.

"Hey," Rigsby yelped.

"Shh," she hissed. "Look."

Her companions followed her gaze down the hall, eyes widening at the spectacle of their boss and consultant in an intimate embrace, laughing and talking in only their nightclothes. The trio stood transfixed, as if watching a pair of exotic animals beginning a rarely seen mating ritual. When Lisbon tiptoed up to kiss Jane, the men were treated to a tantalizing glimpse of their boss's sexy black panties.

"Holy shit," Rigsby muttered, looking away in embarrassment.

"They look so happy together," whispered Van Pelt, all former jealousy draining from her body as the romantic scene tugged at her heart.

They didn't want to interrupt, since their rooms were between the lovers', neither could they make themselves move back around the corner to offer them some privacy. They were undeniably fascinated by what they were witnessing, none of them ever having seen their coworkers in quite this way. Jane and Lisbon were acting for all the world like teenagers in love; it was truly an amazing sight to behold.

Only after the oblivious pair finally made it inside Jane's room-after much kissing and soft laughter-did the rest of the team feel themselves finally able to relax. Silently, they continued down the hall to their own rooms, Rigsby avoiding Van Pelt's dewy eyes.

"Told you so," said Cho, as he opened his door.

"I will never doubt you again, man," said Rigsby, feeling shaky, like he'd just witnessed an accident.

"If you ask me, they deserve it, especially Jane," intoned Van Pelt, her recent embarrassment at the consultant's hands completely forgotten.

Cho merely shrugged-his way of agreeing.

"Well, good-night, guys," Van Pelt said cheerfully. "See you in the morning."

"Night," replied Cho, then entered his open doorway.

Left alone in the hallway, the feeling of residual romance still lingering, the other enamored pair met each other's eyes shyly across the short distance between their rooms. Rigsby and Van Pelt saw in each other a certain inevitability; their time would come, they both thought. Maybe not this night, but some night in the not-so-distant future.

"Good-night, Grace," he said softly.

"Night, Wayne," she replied, an inscrutable look upon her pretty face.

Rigsby spent a sleepless night trying to decipher the unspoken message in her eyes.

**THE END**

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed this story. Thanks so much for reading and supporting it. I may be taking a little break from multi-chapter "Mentalist" fics for awhile, to focus on finishing my "Moonlight" series. If you like that show, I'd love for you to read my old stories. If you've never heard of it, rent it, or watch it on Youtube (you won't be sorry!) , then please come back and read my fics. I'm very proud of them—that's where I learned to write humor and dialogue. I think they're my best work.

You'll still see me back here for my weekly tags. I'm working on this week's now, though I'm still in a little shock for the previews for next week. See you soon!


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